


Hearts full of stars and coffee

by GreyHaven



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (it isn't funny exactly but it's light), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Derek's family, Drunk Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, I tried not to make it angsty angst though, Kissing, Laura Hale - Freeform, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Secondary Characters, Some angst, Talia hale - Freeform, and other lies writers tell themselves, sheriff stilinski - Freeform, this was meant to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 23,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyHaven/pseuds/GreyHaven
Summary: A coffee shop AU set in a supernatural free 'verse.  Do you need a summary?  You know how this is going, right?  ;)“What? You don’t have a plan to get him to notice you?” Scott starts off at a brisk pace; the sort that always leaves Stiles scrambling to keep up and means he arrives places red faced and out of breath.“No, Scotty, my current plan is - focus on my studies and get into the FBI.  There is no space in that for attracting the attention of hot baristas.  If there was, I would absolutely have a plan but as it is, the plan is just to keep buying coffee there and hope he notices me.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 72
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First fic in this fandom, plenty more to come :D 
> 
> Based on [this prompt](https://thesterekpromptsite.tumblr.com/post/153636422733/prompt-after-stiles-tells-scott-his-real-name-to#notes)
> 
> I think this might be the fluffiest thing I've ever written XD Enjoy!

“Mieczysław,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.

“Mitchi- what?” Scott says, looking baffled.

“Exactly. This is why I go by Stiles. Because no one can say my name properly.”

“Say it again.”

“Mieczysław.”

“Mieczysław,” Scott says, pronouncing it correctly this time. Not particularly fluidly, but correctly.

“When I was a kid, I couldn’t say it so I said  _ mischief  _ instead.”

“Aww, that’s cu-”

“Do not. Do not say it’s cute. I  _ will  _ kill you. No one calls me Mischief. Ever.”

“Ok, but wh-”

“Because it’s what my mom called me. Seriously. There will be killing. It will hurt. A lot.”

Scott nods and makes a mental note to never call Stiles Mischief - mostly out of respect for his wishes but also because he’s never entirely certain whether Stiles’ threats of killing and maiming are serious or not. They probably aren’t but he’s also pretty sure Stiles would follow through with  _ some  _ sort of punishment.

“Can we go get coffee now?” Stiles says, already halfway to the door. “I’ve got a forensics class this afternoon and I  _ need  _ coffee for that.”

“Right there with you. Physiology.” Scott makes a disgusted noise and follows Stiles out of the apartment they share. It’s a stone's throw from the Cal State campus in Fresno and they’ve lived there since their first semester; almost four years now. “Starbucks or that little independent place on the corner? What’s it called again?”

“Hubble Bubble. Let’s go there.”

Scott grins. “Just because you like the barista.”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah. He’s hot. He doesn’t know I exist but still, my eyes can enjoy him for as long as it takes to get our coffee.”

“What? You don’t have a plan to get him to notice you?” Scott starts off at a brisk pace; the sort that always leaves Stiles scrambling to keep up and means he arrives places red faced and out of breath.

“No, Scotty, my current plan is -  _ focus on my studies and get into the FBI.  _ There is no space in that for attracting the attention of hot baristas. If there was, I would absolutely have a plan but as it is, the plan is just to keep buying coffee there and  _ hope  _ he notices me.”

“Fair,” Scott says with a grin and keeps walking.

Ten minutes later, Stiles narrowly avoids hitting himself in the face with the door and stumbles through it. He collapses onto the counter, gasping for breath as though he’d run a marathon. Damn Scott and his ability to walk at least ten times faster than the average human.

“What can I get you?” Hot Barista asks.

Stiles just nods and gestures at Scott to place their order.

“Two Americanos. One with a caramel shot. One with two extra shots of espresso.” It’s their regular order, he doesn’t need to check what Stiles wants.

“Name?”

“Mieczysław.” Scott gives Stiles a smirk and gets an annoyed glower in return.

“Be ready in a couple of minutes,” Hot Barista tells them.

Stiles pays, then grabs Scott by the arm and tows him off to the side to wait. “Dude! Why?”

“What?” Scott says, laughing.

“I go by  _ Stiles  _ for a reason!”

“Ok, ok, sorry. But you wanted him to notice you.”

Stiles shakes his head and waves his arms in the way that he does when he just  _ cannot, right now,  _ he cannot find the words to tell someone how  _ stupid  _ they are or how  _ wrong  _ they are. (More accurately, he could find the words but they would be unkind words and he does actually  _ try  _ not to be unkind to people he cares about.)

“I wanted him to notice me for something  _ good,”  _ he says after a moment. “Not for having an unusual name.”

“Does it matter?”

“Does it - does it matter? Yes it fucking matters, Scott, what is wrong with you?”

“Why?”

“Wh- you’re seriously asking me  _ why?  _ Look at me. Then look at him. Seeing the problem yet?”

“Uh…”

“Yes, exactly. He’s hot. I am very much  _ not  _ hot. He was supposed to notice me for doing something heroic like saving a lost puppy or kicking some ass or, I don’t know, anything except my fucking  _ name.”  _

“But that’s not going to happen in a coffee shop.”

“I  _ know  _ that, Scott,” Stiles says, and is about to launch into a diatribe about  _ why,  _ exactly, he knows that and why Scott’s an asshole for pointing it out, but he’s interrupted by Hot Barista.

“Mieczysław,” he calls out, with perfect pronunciation and Stiles’ jaw drops. Literally drops. “Mieczysław,” Hot Barista says again, looking pointedly at Stiles.

Stiles realises he’s staring dreamily instead of actually responding and goes over to the counter. “Yes. Me. That’s me. Mieczysław.”

Hot barista slides a takeout mug to him. “Two extra espresso shots for Mieczysław,” he says, sliding it across to him, then slides another one across and adds, “and a caramel shot for Mieczysław’s friend.”

“Thanks - thank you,” Stiles manages and picks up the mugs. Each one has his name written on, spelled correctly. He’s still staring dreamily at them as he and Scott leave the shop and head towards campus.

He’s halfway through his forensics class when it occurs to him that he has no idea what Hot Barista’s name is.

He’s halfway home before he realises that Hot Barista knew  _ which coffee was his  _ and which was Scott’s.

He keeps the mug.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles reels from that encounter for several days. He and Scott have an argument when Scott tells him to please shut up now, and Stiles reminds him how much Scott talked about Allison when they first got together. Scott tolerates mentions of Hot Barista with slightly more patience after that. Which is good, because Stiles is incapable of shutting up about him and how he pronounced his name and how he spelled it right and how he knows Stiles’ coffee order. He’s equally incapable of shutting up about how pretty Hot Barista’s face is. He manages to talk about his eyes for twenty minutes. Non stop. His homage to Hot Barista’s stubble lasts for almost an hour before Scott throws a cushion at him and Stiles gets the hint.

The next time Stiles goes to Hubble Bubble, he’s alone. He waits in the queue, desperately trying to not chew the strings on his hoodie because Hot Barista is working and that would  _ not  _ be a good look. He might be an anxious mess but that doesn’t mean he has to advertise the fact. He chews his nails instead. Still not a great look but it’s probably an improvement on the last time he was here, red faced and breathless from trying to keep up with Scott, and besides, it’s not like Hot Barista has even noticed him.

He’s proved wrong on that score when he reaches the counter.

“Americano, two espresso shots, for Mieczysław,” Hot Barista says, sliding a mug across the counter. It already has his name written on it.

“Holy shit,” Stiles blurts out before he can stop himself. “Do you, like, remember  _ everyone’s  _ name and order or something? Dude, you must have a photographic memory to remember all that.”

“Eidetic.”

Stiles stares at him with his mouth hanging open.

“Eidetic. Photographic is just one type. And no, I don’t remember  _ everyone’s  _ name and order.”

“I love you.” The words fall from Stiles’ lips before he can stop them. “Fuck. No. Sorry. I meant - I have no idea what I meant. I did actually know that about the memory thing, that photographic is a type of eidetic memory but no one else has ever heard of eidetic memory and they look at me like an idiot when I say it so I said photographic when I meant eidetic and I’m gonna stop talking now, ok?”

Hot Barista smiles at him. It’s a warm smile, one that seems perhaps a little too warm for a standard customer service smile. “Ok, Mieczysław. Stop talking.”

“It’s Stiles. No one calls me Mieczysław.”

“Stiles,” Hot Barista repeats, then takes the mug and adds  _ Stiles  _ in brackets.

“But I am very impressed that you not only know how to pronounce it but spell it too.”

“I minored in Polish culture.”

“That’s -” Stiles really wants to hear more about - well, anything Hot Barista wants to tell him. Literally anything. He could listen to this guy speak for hours. But Hot Barista’s eyes are already flicking over Stiles’ head to the queue behind him and this is not the time. “Cool. It’s cool.” He slides a ten buck note across the counter. “Put the change in the tips jar? I’ll stop bugging you and I’ll - go away now.” He races away, hyperventilating, before Hot Barista can answer.

He keeps this mug too.


	3. Chapter 3

“So are you going back to the coffee shop?” Scott asks, a week later.

“Uh no? Have you forgotten the part where I told him I love him?”

Scott hasn’t. He couldn’t possibly forget that because Stiles had spent at least four hours googling  _ how to erase memory,  _ muttered about requiring brain bleach, then spent an entire day researching alternative colleges that he could switch to just so he would never run into Hot Barista again.

“No,” he says, “I haven’t forgotten that. But you said he smiled at you after you said it and he kept talking to you, so…”

Stiles spits out his hoodie string. “He was at work, he couldn’t exactly be rude.”

“I think you’re worrying too much.”

“Yes, Scotty, I’m worrying too much, I’m me, it’s what I do.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“Am I -  _ yes,  _ Scott, I’m being sarcastic. I literally told Hot Barista that I love him. There is no amount of worrying that is  _ too much  _ for this situation. Trust me.”

“Ok, ok.” Scott holds his hands up in the universal gesture for  _ surrender.  _

*

Scott leaves it another two days before he broaches the subject again.

“You have to go back, Stiles.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s been ten days-”

“Nine,” Stiles interrupts. “It’s been nine days.”

Scott rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh. “Ok. Because it’s been nine days and you’re going to have to face up to it sooner or later.”

“Personally, I’m a fan of ignoring a problem until it eventually just goes away.”

“Dude, he  _ knows your coffee order.  _ He saw you waiting in the queue and got it ready for you. Like, that has  _ never  _ happened to me, it’s not a thing that happens. It...means something. Like when I just  _ knew  _ Allison needed a pen.”

Stiles thinks about that for a moment. “Maybe it did mean something but I think telling him I love him probably cancelled out whatever it meant.”

Scott rolls his eyes again. “But you won’t  _ know  _ unless you go back. And you  _ hate  _ not knowing things.”

Stiles thinks about that too, for more than a moment. Scott’s right. He really does hate not knowing things. But he also hates knowing things that hurt him and knowing that he fucked up with Hot Barista is definitely going to be  _ ouchy.  _ The question is - which does he hate more? “Ugh,” he says, then adds, for good measure, “ugh.”

“Does that mean that I’m right?”

“Yes, Scott, you’re right. You are a hundred percent correct. Go make a note in your diary, it’s a momentous occasion. The day Scott McCall was right about something.”

Scott grins. “Should I also make a note that it’s the day Stiles Stilinkski was wrong about something?”

“I mean, yeah. Honestly, I’m amazed the skies aren’t falling and pigs aren’t flying and maybe a snowball really does stand a chance in hell.”

Scott rolls his eyes and drags Stiles off the couch. “Go. Yes, now. Allison’s already walked past and Hot Barista is working.”

Stiles whines in protest and would have checked his reflection and maybe spent an hour making himself look more presentable except Scott has already pushed him out of the door and locked it behind him. Great. He doesn’t have his keys and Scott will definitely  _ not  _ let him back in until he’s been to the coffee shop. Allison will be somewhere out of sight to make sure he actually does it, too. There’s no escape.

So he walks, trying to get his thoughts in some sort of order so he doesn’t blurt out something stupid again, and goes into the coffee shop.

Hot Barista looks up as Stiles comes in and smiles at him. Stiles turns his head to make sure no one’s standing behind him and when he looks back, Hot Barista lets out a little laugh, still smiling, and goes back to serving the lady in front of him. He’s obviously busy so Stiles joins the back of the queue and takes the opportunity to - well, not  _ ogle,  _ that has gross connotations, but to  _ appreciate _ the hotness of Hot Barista. That’s a much better word, Stiles thinks. Appreciate. It makes him feel like a connoisseur instead of a common-or-garden-variety perv.

He’s deep in thought about where the line is between expressing interest in someone while they’re at work, and being a pushy asshole. He isn’t sure and he hasn’t worked it out by the time he reaches the counter. Somewhat expectedly, he finds himself tongue tied again.

“Stiles.” Hot Barista greets him with a smile that would melt hearts. And Stiles’ brain.

“Hey,” Stiles manages.

“Your usual,” Hot Barista says, and passes him a mug.

Stiles takes it and hopes there aren’t literal hearts in his eyes. “Thank you,” he says and turns the mug around. “Oh, uh, I think you gave me the wrong mug.”

“No, that’s the right one.”

“It says  _ Derek  _ and it has a phone number on it.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Wh- uh - bu-” Stiles stammers. 

Hot Barista smiles. “I’m Derek.”

Stiles stares at him and makes a variety of noises that might be squeaks but definitely aren’t words while he tries to get his head around this new development. “Just to be absolutely, completely clear so we can avoid any future misunderstandings, you’re giving me your number?”

“Yes.”

“So I can call you?”

“Text. I don’t like phone calls.”

“Me neither. So you’re giving me your number so I can text you?”

Derek rolls his eyes but he’s smiling too. “Yes.”

“Ok. Cool. I will - I’ll definitely do that, then.” 

“Good.”

Stiles smiles, somewhat goofily, and leaves. He pauses at a table by the door to save the number in his phone, just in case he loses the mug, and briefly considers texting him straight away before he rejects the idea on the basis it would look too keen. So he puts his phone away, carefully picks up the mug and glances back towards the counter. Hot Barista -  _ Derek -  _ is busy serving other customers. Stiles savours one last look and then walks home.

He keeps this mug as well.

*

“He gave you his number?!” Scott says excitedly when Stiles tells him, which is the second the door is open enough for Scott to hear him. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

“Yeah,” Stiles says dreamily. He puts the coffee mug down on the table and takes a photo of it - showing Derek’s number, of course - just in case he should ever lose the mug and Derek’s name and number disappear from his phone. Which won’t happen because his contacts are auto backed up to his google account anyway. But still. It doesn’t hurt to have it saved as a photo, which is also backed up to his google account. For good measure, he sends the picture to Scott so it’s saved on his phone too.

Scott smiles and shakes his head. “So are you gonna call him?”

“He said to text. He doesn’t like phone calls.”

“So are you gonna text him?”

Stiles rolls his eyes to say  _ duh,  _ and sits down on the couch with his phone in his hand. He thinks for a minute, then starts to type.

Scott stares at him in horror. “You’re texting him  _ now?”  _

“Yeah. Why?”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit...uncool? A bit...keen?”

Stiles gives him a look. “I don’t know, Scotty, I’m not sure, but I  _ think  _ he might have noticed that I’m not  _ cool.  _ So yes, I’m texting him now.”

“Ok, well what are you saying?”

_ “Hey, it’s Stiles.”  _

“That’s it?”

Stiles hits  _ send.  _ “Yup. That’s it.”

Scott makes an appalled sound. “It’s not exactly...imaginative, is it?”

“Nope. But now he has my number.”

Scott doesn’t look very impressed but he doesn’t say anything about it. He didn’t have much game when he’d met Allison so he figures that he’s maybe not the best person to be offering advice on such topics.

Stiles spends the next three hours staring at his phone.


	4. Chapter 4

Derek smiles at his phone when he sees the message but doesn’t have time to reply straight away. He waits until his shift is over and replies as he’s walking home.  _ Hey, Stiles.  _

Stiles is lying down, still staring at his phone when the reply arrives, and he promptly drops the phone on his face. He scrambles to pick it up and makes heart eyes at it as he types out his reply.  _ How was your day?  _ It isn’t very imaginative but he genuinely wants to know. He wants to know  _ everything  _ about Derek.

_ It was good, thanks. How was yours? _

_ Also good.  _ That’s an understatement but Stiles doesn’t particularly want to say “amazing because you gave me your number”. After a moment, he sends another text.  _ What are you up to? _

_ Walking home.  _ Derek pauses, realises that sounds a bit stand-offish, and adds,  _ Would you like to meet up sometime? _

Stiles yelps. Loudly. Loudly enough that Scott comes into his bedroom to ask what’s wrong. “Nothing,” Stiles assures him quickly. “I think Derek just asked me out.”

Scott grins. “So say yes!”

“But what if he’s not asking me out? What if it’s like - he means hanging out but I think it’s a date and then it’ll be awkward and awful and - ugh, Scotty. Why is this shit so hard?”

Scott suppresses a smirk. “Just ask him.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and sends another text.  _ Meet up as in hanging out, or - ? _

_ Or?  _ Derek sends back, smiling.

_ Hanging out or a date?  _

_ The latter. If you want to.  _

Stiles lets out a triumphant shout, drops his phone, leaps up and punches the air. Then he sits down and replies.  _ I want to. I definitely want to.  _

Derek grins at his phone.  _ Sunday, 10.30am, Campagnia.  _

Stiles chews his lip. That place is really expensive and he’s in school and doesn’t have a lot of money to spare but he doesn’t particularly want to admit that to Derek. While he’s working out if he can borrow some money from his father, or make an excuse to do something different or go somewhere cheaper, his phone pings again.

_ Just to be clear, I’m inviting you out so I’m paying. Don’t argue. _

Stiles bristles about being told not to argue, then wonders how Derek can afford that sort of place on a barista’s salary, decides it’s none of his business, and texts back -  _ Sounds great! I’ll see you there.  _

Derek smiles and unlocks the door to his loft apartment. He goes inside before he replies again.  _ See you there, Stiles. I just got home and need to cook dinner. I’ll text you later.  _

Stiles screenshots all of the messages and hugs his phone.

*

Derek cooks dinner. Just for himself this time. Sometimes Cora stops by but she’s out with Isaac tonight. Peter is a regular visitor with an uncanny knack of turning up unannounced just as Derek is dishing up whatever he’s cooked. Derek learned a long time ago to always cook extra and reheat the leftovers for lunch the next day if they don’t get eaten. But Peter doesn’t turn up so he eats alone.

He thinks about Stiles the whole time. 

Actually, he thinks about Stiles a lot of the time. More often than he’d really care to admit to. Not that anyone has asked. He plays his cards close to his chest in that regard and even Peter and Cora, who are family but also his closest friends, don’t know much about his love life. It’s the way Derek prefers it.

He’d noticed Stiles when he first started coming into the shop, three and a half years ago. Something about him had caught Derek’s attention. His eyes, maybe. Gorgeous amber eyes that Derek could lose himself in for hours. Or his fingers. Long, slender fingers that Derek wants to study until he can draw them from memory. Or perhaps it’s just that he gives off an energy that Derek is powerless to resist, as though Stiles is gravity itself.

But three years ago, Stiles had seemed too young and then Derek had gotten into an ill-fated relationship with Jennifer. He’d spent the past eleven months picking himself up after she’d gone back to her ex. 

Now, though, now he feels ready to start dating again. Well, he  _ doesn’t,  _ exactly. He feels ready to start dating  _ Stiles.  _ Especially because he has a feeling Stiles will graduate in the summer and then he’ll leave, and if Derek doesn’t do something about it now, he’s probably going to miss his chance.

Which is why Derek gave Stiles his number today.

And Stiles had text him.

Which is why Derek is now staring at his phone with no idea how to continue the conversation. He doesn’t want to disappoint Stiles by not texting him as he said he would, but he’s...lost.

In the end, he posts a photo of his dinner to Instagram and sends the link to Stiles. Then he cross posts it to Twitter and sends Stiles a link to that, too. Which might be a bit strange, now that he thinks about it, but he figures Stiles probably has either Instagram or Twitter, or both, and maybe they can work out if they’re compatible on some important issues before they get too involved and someone (Derek) gets hurt.

Stiles has been attached to his phone all evening, despite Scott’s attempts to get him to play the latest Halo. He’s fairly convinced his hand has frozen into a claw around it and at this point the phone probably requires surgical removal. He still drops it when Derek’s text pops up.

He picks it up and clicks on the first link Derek has sent him. He ‘likes’ it, comments with an appropriate emoji, follows Derek, and then starts going through his feed. It’s not stalking if Derek has sent him the link. By the time he gets back to 2015, he’s come to two conclusions. One, Derek is  _ way  _ cooler than he is. And two, dude does  _ not  _ know how to use hashtags. Then he comes to a third conclusion. Derek posts  _ a lot  _ of photos of food he’s cooked.

He closes Instagram and replies to Derek’s text.  _ You know, if you use hashtags, you get more likes. _

Derek smiles when he gets the notification of Stiles’  _ like,  _ comment, and follow. He follows him back and busies himself going through Stiles’ feed. It’s full of silly selfies, pictures of an old jeep, a few of Stiles with an older man who Derek presumes is his father, and excited posts about upcoming movies, sci fi shows, and somehow Stiles has over ten thousand followers which makes Derek feel embarrassed about his one hundred and something.

His smile grows wider when he gets Stiles’ text, and he replies with  _ I’m not on there for likes.  _

Stiles rolls his eyes and answers with _OMFG_ and a facepalm emoji, then clicks on the Twitter link. This is much more interesting. Derek clearly prefers Twitter to Instagram (a fact Stiles wholeheartedly agrees with). He doesn’t hit like on the post Derek has sent him, he’s already done that on Instagram, so he just follows Derek and scrolls back through some of his recent tweets.

There’s a few retweets of political type things that Stiles has retweeted too. Medicare for all. Universal Basic Income. Gun control. It’s good to see that they’re aligned on some important topics. Less aligned on the Star Trek vs Star Wars debate but Stiles is passionate enough about the subject to argue anyone and everyone around to his way of thinking.

Then he stops scrolling and starts reading. It’s a long thread, written by Derek, about the bias of media and the role it plays in determining the outcomes of important issues - such as the presidential election, and Brexit (there’s a little divergence here where he talks about the destabilisation of Europe), before he concludes by saying that people shouldn’t believe everything they read on the internet and posts a link encouraging people to donate to the ACLU. The thread has close to a hundred thousand likes, and forty thousand retweets. Stiles briefly reads some of the replies, decides he doesn’t want to get into an argument with MAGA fanatics on Derek’s thread, and just retweets it instead. He’s slightly in awe of Derek’s intelligence - the thread is well written, without a single typo, and is clearly well thought out. Not that Stiles isn’t smart, he is. __ Very smart. But Derek seems to be in another league. So apparently he’s super hot and super clever and well read and Stiles wonders if Derek is actually real or if he’s a figment of Stiles’ imagination. Real, he decides. His imagination couldn’t have conjured up someone so perfect, let alone someone so perfect being interested in  _ him.  _

Derek has got the Twitter notification that Stiles has followed him, follows him in return, and starts scrolling. Stiles’ feed is somewhat chaotic. There’s some fandom stuff mixed in with some RPG stuff mixed in with some political stuff. Derek is relieved to see that while they might not agree on every issue, they both politically lean to the left so that’s a good starting point, and apparently Stiles takes politics fairly seriously. Or he just likes finishing arguments on the internet. He doesn’t appear to start any, but he is very, very good at ending them with a combination of facts and sarcasm. He cares enough to argue about the issues that matter to him and seems to jump into arguments where one person is being bullied by others and shuts that shit down in a handful of tweets. Sometimes with gifs. There are a few people who he has entire conversations with by sending gifs back and forth. Derek hasn’t quite got the hang of that (if he’s being honest, he still hasn’t quite grasped emojis as a conversational concept, let alone gifs) but when he comes across a recent tweet from someone called  _ I’m smarter than you so shut up  _ whose twitter handle is @redheadgrrrrrrrllll just saying “Well? How did it go with Hot Barista?”, he can’t resist replying. He changes his display name to  _ Hot Barista,  _ then types out  _ Well, Stiles? How did it go with Hot Barista?,  _ adds an appropriate gif, and sends it.

Stiles drops his phone again. And lets out an undignified squawk. Then contemplates deleting his Twitter, Instagram, changing his phone number and leaving the country. Damn Lydia for sending that tweet. At least he hasn’t replied to it. But now Derek knows that a) Stiles has been talking about him and b) Stiles has referred to him as Hot Barista. Neither of which are things he particularly wants Derek to know.

He tries not to worry about it too much. Derek seems to be amused and is playing along, so Stiles types out a quick reply.  _ IDK, HB, you tell me ;) _

Derek laughs, sends back  _ touché,  _ and changes his display name back to his usual, which is just  _ Derek H.  _ He doesn’t use his surname. It carries too much influence and makes him too readily identifiable. He prefers to distance himself from that, lest he get dragged into family dramas. His life is quiet; uncomplicated. Just the way he likes it.

He puts his phone down and picks up his sketchbook and pencils instead. He’s sketched Stiles half a dozen times before he starts yawning and goes to bed.

He texts Stiles  _ goodnight  _ before he falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles is a nervous wreck by the time Sunday morning rolls around. He spent Saturday afternoon working out what to wear - assisted by Danny who had been roped in when Stiles called him in a panic because  _ I have a date with a super hot guy and we’re going to Campagnia and you have to help me, Danny, or I’m going to die and you don’t want my death on your conscience. I will haunt you. Horribly.  _ Danny had laughed but agreed to come and help in return for Stiles writing a paper for him.

Between them, they’d decided on a pair of khaki slacks and a close fitted, mid grey button down shirt with the collar open and sleeves rolled up that Danny had pronounced made Stiles look  _ not too bad.  _ Stiles took that as high praise coming from Danny.

Still, he’s struck with a huge sense of doubt as he gets dressed so he takes a selfie and sends it to Danny, saying -  _ Still ok?  _

The reply comes back straight away.  _ OMFG YES WILL YOU SHUT UP AND GO HAVE FUN.  _

Stiles accepts that but still checks with both Scott and Allison and doesn’t leave the apartment until they’ve reassured him that he looks good. Five times. Each.

Scott is on the verge of literally throwing him out when Stiles’ phone beeps a reminder at him. It’s time to leave. Not that he was going to  _ forget,  _ but he does have a tendency to lose track of time and his phone calendar lets him add a location, then allows for changes in traffic and tells him if he needs to leave earlier than planned. He uses it for anything important. Like dates with Hot Baristas. Well. Singular. A date. With a Hot Barista.

He dashes out of the apartment and jumps in his jeep. At 10.25, he’s standing outside Campagnia and glances around for Derek. Just as he does so, a nearly new, black Chevrolet Camaro pulls up beside him with a screech of tyres and Derek steps out.

Stiles gulps because Derek is gorgeous in black jeans, a blue henley with the top three buttons undone, and sunglasses.

“Hey,” Derek greets him with a smile that could light up the midnight sky. He takes off his sunglasses and shoves them in his pocket, then leans in to kiss Stiles on the cheek.

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Stiles manages. He’s fairly sure he’s blushing but he doesn’t think anyone can blame him because Derek’s hand is on his waist and at least the blood has rushed to his face rather than to points further south.

“Shall we?” Derek says, gesturing towards the door.

Stiles nods and allows Derek to guide him inside.

They make awkward small talk while they wait to be seated and then place their orders (bacon and eggs with English breakfast tea for Derek, waffles and strong coffee for Stiles). Neither of them is particularly good at small talk. Both are relieved that the live jazz band is loud enough that conversation isn’t essential.

It isn’t too loud, though, and they soon settle into a conversation.

“So I’ve already guessed you’re a student,” Derek says, “but what are you studying?”

“Criminology. With a law enforcement bias.”

Derek nods. “Want to be a cop, huh?”

“FBI. My dad’s the sheriff of the town I’m from. I wouldn’t mind being a cop but a small town cop? I’d be bored shitless. It suits Dad, he likes a quiet life, he likes to help people. But I like investigating and mysteries and working stuff out and analysing stuff. I applied to the FBI when I was in high school and got a conditional offer. If I pass my degree which - well, it’s not an  _ if,  _ it’s a  _ when,  _ there’s no way I’m failing - I start at Quantico in August.”

Derek nods. He figured Stiles will be leaving soon so the news doesn’t exactly come as a surprise and it’s only March, it gives them some time to see if things are going to work out and if they do...well, Derek isn’t exactly attached to his life in Fresno, he wouldn’t mind moving across the country if it comes to it. He shuts that thought down quickly. It’s far too soon to be thinking like that. “Which small town?”

“Beacon Hills. No one’s ever heard of it bu-”

“I know it,” Derek interrupts, groaning inwardly. If that’s where Stiles is from, he’ll  _ definitely  _ know Derek’s family. This is not a good thing.

“Dude!” Stiles snaps, perhaps a bit more harshly than he’d intended to, and gestures to himself. “Talking here. No one ever told you it’s rude to interrupt?”

Derek laughs softly. It’s been a long time since anyone stood up to him. Everyone seems to be intimidated by him (which is how Derek likes it, it keeps the wrong people away), or overawed because they think he’s so gorgeous he can do no wrong (which is  _ not  _ how Derek likes it). But not Stiles. In fact, it seems to Derek to be almost a contradiction. The Stiles he’d met at the coffee shop seemed nervous; anxious, even. He hadn’t seemed particularly comfortable when they’d met today, either, like he was a little out of his depth. But whether he is or not, whatever self esteem issues he might have flew right out of the window the second he felt wronged. Derek is in no doubt at all that Stiles can stand up for himself. It’s refreshing.

“Sorry,” he says, gesturing for Stiles to continue.

“Thank you,” Stiles says, with sarcastic undertones, and pauses to remember what he was saying. “So yeah, no one’s ever heard of it but it’s, like, a couple hours drive from here.”

Derek nods, relieved that Stiles isn’t asking how he knows the town. “You go home often?”

“Yeah, once a month or so.” Stiles takes a sip of his coffee. It’s good coffee. “So Polish culture? You said you minored in it?”

“Yeah. I double majored in art history and linguistics, it fit in with both so I took it as a minor.”

“You -” Stiles stares at him, open mouthed “- you took two majors  _ and  _ a minor? How long did that take you?”

“Five years and I fit in another minor along the way.”

“Wh -” Stiles says intelligently. “Bu - wh - two majors and two minors? You completed two full degrees in five years?”

“Yes.”

“What was the other minor?”

“English literature.”

“So art history, linguistics, Polish culture and English literature?”

“Yes.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Ok, I’ve gotta ask. You’re obviously super smart, you have two degrees...what are you doing working in a coffee shop?”

Derek grins. “Disappointing my parents.”

“You - uh, ok?”

Derek leans forward, his elbows on the table in exactly the way his mother would slap his wrists for. “They think I should be doing something big and important. They’re...biased. They don’t look down on people, they just think I should be doing something  _ better  _ with my life. Like, what’s good enough for other people isn’t good enough for me. And I  _ like  _ working in the shop, I see different people every day, some regulars but a lot of people are just passing. I take pride in what I do but it’s the sort of job I can leave behind me at the end of the day. Which means that I can spend my evenings drawing or painting or writing or reading. If I had the sort of job my parents want me to have, I couldn’t do that.”

Stiles nods and is about to say something else - to ask more about Derek, because he knows Beacon Hills and he seems to have a complicated relationship with his family and Stiles wants to know everything about him. Before he can ask, though, a waiter delivers their food to the table and the moment is gone.

Derek takes a photo of his plate which prompts Stiles to laugh.

“You really take a lot of pictures of food,” he says.

“Yes.”

“So are you, like, a foodie or something?”

Derek thinks on that for a moment. “Not really. I appreciate good food and I like to cook but no.”

“So why all the food photos on your Insta?”

Derek grins. “If I post pictures of food, my family knows I’m eating, if nothing else, and they don’t phone me as often.”

Stiles laughs softly. “Somehow I’m getting the impression you don’t get on with your family.”

“No one gets on with my family.”

“Why?”

Derek sighs. He might as well just rip the band aid off. “My mother is Talia Hale.”

Stiles gapes at him. Eyes wide. Mouth wider. “Holy shit,” he splutters, “you’re a  _ Hale?!”  _

Derek nods.

“And you’re on a date with  _ me?” _

“Yes.”

“Why the fuck?”

“Because I like you.”

“And again, why the fuck?”

“Because I like you,” Derek repeats.

Stiles laughs softly. “You could have anyone in the world, pretty much, but you like  _ me?”  _

“Yes.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Ok, it’s official, you have no taste. Or you just  _ really  _ like disappointing your parents.”

“That’s not why I asked you out.”

“No? Just a bonus, then?”

“Nope. My parents couldn’t give a shit who I date as long as they make me happy.”

“And you think I’ll make you happy?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

Stiles laughs softly again. “Yeah, I guess we will.”

They lapse back into small talk after that, which mostly consists of Stiles telling Derek about his asshole of a college professor who seems to have it in for him and how he’s in danger of failing through no fault of his own. Derek offers to ‘have a word’ (he even makes the air quotes with his fingers) which makes Stiles laugh. He tells Derek he has a plan. He actually  _ does  _ have a plan. If Harris fails him, Stiles is going to destroy his life. He doesn’t give Derek the details of the plan, that would take hours because it’s very long and complex and there are a lot of moving parts, but it involves getting Harris sacked and Stiles retaking the class with a more impartial professor. Derek listens to him with a rapt expression, hanging on his every word. Stiles is animated; he talks with his hands, big, wide gestures for emphasis, his face conveys every emotion he’s feeling - and there’s clearly a lot of them. 

Stiles manages not to argue when Derek insists (again) on paying. He leaves a cash tip on the table, even though he’s sure Derek added one to the check as well, and follows Derek outside. He’s trying not to stare at Derek’s ass when Derek stops abruptly and turns around. Stiles walks face first into his chest and stumbles but Derek’s hand is strong around his arm, holding him up.

“Ok?” Derek asks softly.

Stiles mumbles something incoherent because he  _ cannot, right now.  _ He can’t think. Derek is so close and he’s smiling that smile that could light up the dark and melt the ice caps and it’s all for  _ him.  _

“Sorry,” Derek says. He thinks he should say something else but he’s staring down into Stiles’ beautiful amber eyes and he can’t focus on anything. Until Stiles tilts his chin upwards and Derek seizes his chance. He leans closer. Stops. Murmurs, “is this ok?”

“Fuck, yes,” Stiles blurts out. His heart is jumping around in his chest, light and fluttery and then Derek’s lips are on his and everything stops. Time no longer exists. He stops breathing. He can’t hear the sounds around them. It’s as though his whole word has narrowed to  _ Derek.  _ The kiss is over too soon - but then, Stiles thinks, any time this century would have been too soon - and Derek pulls away.

Derek doesn’t say anything. He could  _ try  _ but he has a feeling that all he’ll be able to manage is a variety of incoherent sounds and he does generally aim to be slightly more suave than that. Stiles broke his brain. Kissing Stiles feels like coming home and Derek wants to do it again and again. “Thank you,” he says, just as the silence is starting to feel awkward. He’s got his words back in order now. “I’ve had a really nice time with you. I hope we can do it again sometime. Soon.”

“Yes. Yep. Yeah. That - what you said.”

Derek grins. “I’ll text you?”

Stiles nods. “Can you - uh - I guess you don’t live far away but can you text me when you get back? So I know you got back ok?” He says it, then inwardly kicks himself because that sounds about a million different kinds of  _ too serious.  _

“I will do that. You’ll do the same?”

Stiles nods again, relieved that Derek seems to be taking it in his stride. “I’ll text.”

Derek smiles and kisses Stiles on the cheek, just the same way he’d greeted him earlier. And then he’s gone. He’s back in the Camaro and pulling out of the parking lot in a screech of tyres that does not reassure Stiles about Derek’s ability to get home in one piece.

Derek texts him ten minutes later. Stiles replies five minutes after that. They exchange texts all afternoon and set up a second date for the following Saturday - to a bookstore Stiles knows that has a seating area and serves coffee. He’s careful to say it isn’t as good as Derek’s coffee, but he thinks that getting to know each other through their taste in books might be fun. Derek agrees wholeheartedly. He can talk about books for hours so at least the conversation won’t run dry.

They each say they’re looking forward to it and tell each other to have a good week.

Stiles hugs his phone.


	6. Chapter 6

Scott gets home a while later, looking somewhat frayed around the edges. He’s just spent three hours with Allison and her parents which always leaves him frazzled. Victoria Argent spent the entire time staring at him icily. Chris had reminded Scott for the millionth time that he’s a security consultant to the government and has an arsenal of weapons at his disposal. And friends in high places. Scott doesn’t actually fear for his life. He’s fairly sure Chris wouldn’t hurt him, for Allison’s sake if nothing else. But it’s uncomfortable. He’s more than happy to put it behind him and listen to Stiles talk about his date with Derek.

“So?” he says eagerly, after he’s kicked off his shoes and thrown himself onto the old, lumpy couch. “How was it?”

“He kissed me,” Stiles says dreamily.

“Dude, that’s awesome!”

“And we have another date on Saturday.”

“Amazing! I told you he likes you!”

“Yeah, but…”

“But? What but?”

Stiles sighs. “He likes me. I think he likes me. I mean, he kissed me and he asked me out again so he likes me, right?”

“Right. He likes you. So what’s the but?”

“He’s a Hale.”

“A - what?” Scott shakes his head, confused.

“A Hale. As in Talia Hale? As in, the super rich family from Beacon Hills? As in, they own half the state of California?”

“Uh -”

“Yes. Exactly.  _ Uh.”  _

“Ok, but why is this a bad thing?”

Stiles splutters and waves his hands around. “What do you mean,  _ why is this a bad thing?  _ Are you really not seeing the problem here?”

“Uh...no?”

“Ok, let me spell it out for you. Derek is super hot, super nice, incredibly clever - he has two degrees which he completed in  _ five years -  _ and richer than most people could ever dream of being. He’s working in a coffee shop because it disappoints his parents.”

Scott frowns. “Ok, so his parents are stuck up snobs.”

“He says they aren’t, that they don’t look down on people, they just have double standards and want something better for  _ him.”  _

“Oh, ok, so he’s just hitting out at their authority. I mean, it’s not like you’ve never done that before.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well that’s a callout I did not need, Scotty. But I’ve never used anyone else to do that.”

“I mean, technically…” Scott laughs and ducks when Stiles throws a cushion at him. “So that’s what you’re worried about?”

Stiles nods.

“You think he’s using you as another way to disappoint his parents?”

Stiles nods again.

“Because you don’t think you’re good enough for him?”

“Seriously, dude? You’re just gonna jump right on in there with another callout, huh?”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Scott says, tilting his jaw.

“Fuck you.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Fuck it, yes, you’re right, can you shut up about it now, please?” Stiles snaps. Scott is annoyingly perceptive when he wants to be.

“No! No, I’m not going to shut up about it,” Scott says. He takes a deep breath and continues before Stiles can start arguing with him. “Because  _ I  _ think you’re awesome and clearly Derek does too. So  _ you  _ shut up and listen.”

Stiles stares at him, contemplates arguing, opens his mouth to say something and closes it again with a snap.

“Good. Because here’s the thing. You say Derek’s super smart but so are you. How many people do you think get accepted into the FBI before they’re even out of high school?”

“It’s a -”

“I know it’s a conditional offer but you’re not gonna fail. You’re getting A’s in every class, except for that asshole Harris and you’re still getting a passing grade there. You know as much about law enforcement as your father does and he’s been a cop for twenty years. You know all the tech stuff that I’m clueless about, you can make  _ anything  _ work. If you weren’t going into the FBI, you could be an electrical engineer or something. So yeah, ok, maybe Derek’s more...intellectual than you are but you’re just as clever as he is. And you’re kind, too. You build people up and give them confidence. The only person you don’t do that to is yourself.”

“But -”

“No. No buts. You are  _ just  _ as good as Derek is, if not better.”

Stiles glares at him. “But he’s better looking. And he’s cool and did you miss the part where I said he’s rich?”

Scott raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Dude, have you looked in a mirror lately? Because at risk of turning this into an even weirder conversation than it already is, you’re kinda hot.”

“Kinda?”

“Fine, you’re hot, I was trying not to be weird.”

“It’s definitely weird. But still, he’s cool and rich and I am neither of those things.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Are you dating him because he’s cool and rich?”

“Uh, no, obviously, I’m dating him because he’s smart and nice and ok, maybe I’m dating him a bit because he’s like, really hot, but not because he’s cool and I didn’t even know he was rich until today.”

“So would it be fair to say that being cool and rich aren’t things that really matter?”

Stiles glares at him again. “Fine, they don’t matter. But still,  _ matching  _ matters. Being compatible matters. How are we supposed to be compatible when he’s all... _ Derek-y  _ and I’m an anxious mess who falls over his own feet? And similar socio-economic backgrounds are proven to be important in successful relationships.”

“They are?”

“Mm. I read it somewhere.”

Scott shakes his head, smiling. “It’s been one date, Stiles. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be talking about a long term relationship?”

“Seriously? This coming from you? You who came home from your first date with Allison and announced you were going to marry her?  _ You’re  _ telling  _ me _ it’s too soon to be concerned about how compatible Derek and I might be on a long term basis?”

“Uh -”

“Yes, exactly,  _ uh.  _ Now shut up and let me worry in peace.”

Scott does.

Stiles thinks about nothing else for the next six hours. Then he reaches the conclusion that maybe Scott has a point. He  _ is  _ kinda awesome. And it  _ is  _ too early to be thinking about long term compatibility. He decides to just roll with it. Even if Derek  _ is  _ using him to disappoint his parents, at least he gets to date a really hot, clever, cool guy for a while. 

It’s enough.

Probably.


	7. Chapter 7

The point of having a date at a bookstore, Stiles explains to Derek via text, is that they can each pick out a favourite book for the other to read.

Derek immediately panics because the last time he counted, he had over a hundred favourite books. And that had been months ago. He’s read another twenty since then and several of those had immediately made it onto his favourites list too. Whittling those choices down to just one seems like a monumental task.

The decision keeps him awake for three nights in a row. Which book to choose? What will it say about him? Will Stiles like it? Will Stiles even read it? He wonders if he can pick something obscure that the bookstore won’t have. But then Stiles will probably just order it off Amazon anyway and that’ll be even worse because Derek won’t even be there to see his reaction when he reads the useless blurb that they print on back covers instead of actual story summaries nowadays.

He decides to avoid any of the classics, as great as they are. Stiles has probably read them in school. So that narrows the choice down to contemporary novels and non-fiction. After another several hours of thought, Derek narrows the choice further and rules out non-fiction on the basis that while he might not know Stiles’ taste in reading materials, he’s at least fairly sure it doesn’t include lengthy tomes on medieval Europe.

By the time he gets to the bookstore, he’s narrowed it down to two choices.

He’s standing in the contemporary fiction section, still hopelessly undecided, when Stiles appears.

“Hey,” he says, and leans in to greet Derek with a kiss on the cheek.

Derek melts. He thinks he might actually be a puddle of goo on the floor. “Hey,” he manages in return, after he realises he’s been making heart eyes at Stiles for at least ten seconds too long.

Stiles doesn’t notice. He’s too busy making heart eyes at Derek, too. “I was early,” he blurts out, holding up a paper bag which contains the book he just bought. “I’ll - you’re still deciding so shall I go grab our coffees?”

“Yeah, that - yes, please.”

“Ok. What would you like?”

“Green tea, please.”

“No problem.” Stiles flashes him and grin and then he’s gone.

Derek watches him swerve around the edge of a bookcase and wonders if the bookstore coffee shop does table service because he has very little confidence in Stiles’ ability to get two hot drinks to the table without dropping them or spilling them all over himself. But maybe he’s being unfair. Stiles seems relaxed. More confident and more comfortable than Derek had seen him before.

After another few minutes of hesitation, Derek buys both books. He can always give the other one to Stiles at a later time. And if not, he’ll just add it to his collection which has a lot of duplicates anyway. Some because other people have bought him books that he already owns, and some because he occasionally lends books to people who invariably don’t return them so he keeps extra copies of the favourites that he can’t live without.

He finds Stiles curled up on a couch in the coffee shop area. He looks cosy. He’s kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up beneath him and he’s chewing the string of his hoodie as he reads something on his phone. There are two mugs on the table in front of him.

Derek smiles and goes over. “Hey.”

Stiles looks up and spits out the hoodie string. “Hey. I got your tea.”

“Thank you.” Derek sits down beside him, close but not too close. He puts the paper bag down on the table, picks up the cup of tea and has a sip. It’s good green tea. “I got you a book.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says excitedly. He puts his phone down and picks up his own paper bag. “I got you one, too. I mean, obviously I did, it was my idea so...anyway.”

Derek can’t help but smile. “Actually I got two because I couldn’t decide but this is the one I think you’ll like most.” He takes out the copy of Good Omens that he’d just bought and hands it to Stiles.

Stiles takes it and laughs.

Derek’s face falls. “What? Not your thing?”

Stiles shakes his head, no longer laughing but still grinning, and passes Derek the book that he’d bought.

Derek takes it out of the bag and starts laughing too. “Seriously? We both bought the same book?”

“I literally have no idea what the chances are of that.” Stiles pauses. He looks as though he might be running probability percentages in his head before he gives up and takes a sip of his coffee instead. “It’s cool, though. Really cool. Like, I thought you might pick something highbrow, some literary fiction novel that’s supposed to be a classic but was written by some misogynistic dude who was drunk when he wrote it and is actually, objectively terrible. But nope, you picked out one of my favouritest books of all time.”

“Someone’s judgy,” Derek teases lightly.

“I’m not - ok, maybe I am a bit, but tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m - ok, why am I wrong?”

“I was never gonna pick out a classic. Because you probably studied them all in school and if we talk about them, it’s gonna be like English class and -”

Stiles grins and twists in his seat to face Derek, leans slightly forwards, makes hand gestures as he speaks. “But talking about Good Omens is more like fandom stuff. I mean, it  _ is  _ fandom stuff, so we can basically just shriek enthusiastically about it.”

Derek smiles. Stiles’ exuberance is contagious. “You like fandom stuff, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean, some of it. Some of it is like,  _ hell no, why the fuck would you do that shit  _ because some fans are gross. But yeah, I’m basically a nerd. I watch YouTube videos and I have opinions and favourite ships and -”

“Ships?”

Stiles makes a noise that sounds like  _ OMFG.  _ “Ships. Relationships. Shipping two or more characters whether it’s canon or not. That sort of ship. Though admittedly I did once write a ten thousand word essay on the comparative merits of the spaceships in Star Trek against those in Star Wars and handed it in.”

“Which class?”

“Uh -” Stiles screws up his face and scratches his head. “Economics. It was a bit of a tangent, admittedly, but Coach liked it and gave me an A. Honestly, I think he was just relieved that it wasn’t another paper on male circumcision.”

“For...Economics?”

“Like I said. Tangent.”

Derek nods, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. He forces them back down, lest he look judgy. “That’s quite a tangent.”

"Yeah, ADHD is a bitch. I take a  _ lot  _ of Adderall. And I like writing papers, I used to do it for college students back when I was in high school, sold them online. Oh, if you ever meet my dad, don't tell him you know that. He pretends not to know I did it, I pretend not to know he knows I did it. It's a whole thing."

"Sure," Derek says, still trying to work out how they'd gotten from talking about books to Stiles confessing to doing something that might not be exactly illegal but certainly isn't completely legit.

"Thanks," Stiles says, smiling that smile that makes Derek want to bask in the warmth it throws off.

Derek takes a sip of his tea because if he doesn’t put his attention somewhere other than Stiles’ lips, he’s going to end up kissing him and while that very definitely wouldn’t be a bad thing, now is arguably  _ not  _ the right time for that.

Stiles sips his coffee. He’s inwardly kicking himself for mentioning Derek meeting his father because it’s  _ way  _ too soon for that and Derek has only said one word since Stiles dropped it into conversation and oh god what if he’s fucked up before they’ve even got started he can hardly breathe and -

“So,” Derek says, and Stiles breathes again. “Good Omens.”

“Yes!” Stiles says enthusiastically. He doesn’t often get the opportunity to fanboy with someone in person, most of his fandom life is conducted online, and he fully intends to make the most of it. “So, I love it because-”

And then they’re off. They talk about the book, about their favourite lines and parts. Derek has visited London and tells Stiles that yes, the M25 was absolutely, definitely, designed by Crowley. Stiles particularly likes the blurring of lines between good and evil and how no one is entirely one or the other.

Stiles talks the most, in long sentences that ramble along seventeen different tangents before he makes his point. Derek listens with rapt attention. When Derek speaks, it’s shorter, punchier, but every word holds meaning. Stiles can’t take his eyes off him.

They move on to other works by the same author, and then onto Terry Pratchett and Discworld, and then onto other books they’ve read and enjoyed recently.

“Oh, there was this one I read,” Stiles says after Derek comes back with more drinks for them. “About this - he wasn’t immortal, exactly, but he lived for a really long time which gave him the  _ appearance  _ of immortality and it was all about -”

“How To Stop Time,” Derek says, smiling and nodding. “It’s a great book.”

“Right? Like, I don’t  _ know  _ if I believe in immortals but I don’t  _ not  _ believe either. Like aliens. I don’t believe in little green men who come and abduct people from deserted places, but I also don’t believe we’re alone in the universe. And I’m not sure I believe in the sort of immortals who literally can’t be killed but, y’know, there’s still a lot that science can’t explain so I keep an open mind. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the guy in the book who has a super extended lifespan, I could maybe believe in that. So it felt more real.”

Derek nods. “Exactly, it was fantasy but much more believable. Especially as the character struggled with living for so long.”

“Yeah, I mean, dude had some serious mental health problems going on and it’s not like he could really get professional help for them. Which he really needed. And I know therapy sucks and it would’ve been even worse for him because he couldn’t exactly say that he was tired of living because it had been hundreds of years and he’d seen everything happen before, so he’d just be stuck with having to make up a reason for how he felt and therapists can see right past that bullshit.”

“You have a lot of experience with therapists?”

“What? Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry. Forgot you didn’t know that. ADHD, a whole boatload of anxiety, and PTSD.”

Derek is slightly taken aback by Stiles’ openness. Most people don’t talk about therapy and mental health. He isn’t sure if Stiles is just that open or if he doesn’t have a filter that stops him from saying things. “Therapy helps?” he asks.

Stiles nods. “Yeah. It helps a lot. I’m not - apart from Adderall, I don’t take any meds. In case you were wondering. I know some people are funny about that.”

“I’m not. Wondering. Or funny about that.”

“Ok, good.” Stiles allows himself a tiny sigh of relief.

“You said PTSD. Do you have any triggers I should be aware of?”

Stiles stares at him with his mouth open for at least thirty seconds too long. “You’re amazing,” he blurts out. “Seriously, no one ever thinks to ask.”

Derek smiles. “I’m asking.”

“Thanks. Really. Thank you. I’m not good with displays of anger, physical threats, feeling trapped, being surprised - like, jumped out on, grabbed when I’m not expecting it, jump scares in movies, that sort of thing.”

“Ok, noted. Thank you for telling me.”

“And thanks for not asking why I have PTSD. People always want all the gory details and like, no. Just no.”

“I won’t ask.”

Stiles surprises himself as much as he surprises Derek when he leans in to kiss him. He intends for the kiss to be brief and chaste but then Derek makes a soft little sound, low in the back of his throat, and Stiles is  _ lost.  _ Just as lost as he had been when Derek kissed him. He brings his hand up, slowly, the movement tentative and uncertain, and rests it on the side of Derek’s neck, brushes his thumb across Derek’s cheek.

And then it’s Derek’s turn to get lost. Because Stiles’ hand is on him, on his cheek, and Derek has had  _ actual dreams  _ about those hands, he’s sketched them a hundred times, he has had  _ thoughts  _ about those hands. Thoughts that he would prefer not to be thinking about in public. He doesn’t have to worry about it for long. 

Stiles realises the kiss is a little more involved than is really appropriate for the middle of a bookstore coffee shop at three o’clock in the afternoon and pulls back. He stays close, leans his arm along the back of his couch towards Derek.

“I really like you, Stiles,” Derek says with a smile.

“I really like you too, Derek.”

They kiss again before they say goodbye.

When he gets home, Stiles hugs the book and puts it on his bedside cabinet.

Derek does the same.

*

_ Dinner at my place? Friday at 7? I’ll cook,  _ Derek texts later that day. It’s probably not very cool of him but he has no interest in playing the dating game to stupid arbitrary rules. He wants to see Stiles again. He wants to text him. So he does.

Stiles sends back a succession of heart eyes emojis. He also lets out a whoop that makes Scott sigh and roll his eyes.

_ I don’t know what that means,  _ Derek replies.

_ Sorry. Means yes. Thought that was obvious. What’s your address?  _

Derek sends his address which Stiles immediately puts into his phone and pulls up on a map. He frowns at it and holds his phone out to Scott. “Industrial area, right?”

Scott peers at it and nods. “You’re sure that’s where he lives? It’s right out by the airport.”

_ You live in a warehouse or something? lol,  _ Stiles texts back.

_ Yes.  _

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Apparently he lives in a warehouse.”

“Right,” Scott says slowly. “You’re really sure about this guy? I mean, I know you said he’s a Hale and that would be easy enough to check but they’ve got enough money to cover up if he’s doing something -”

“If he’s a mad axe murderer. Yeah, I know.” Stiles chews his lip for a moment, then dials his father's number. “Hey Dad.”

“Stiles,” Noah says warily. Stiles doesn’t usually call him. Not that they don’t talk, they do, but on Zoom. And it’s never late on a Saturday afternoon, it’s a Sunday evening thing, after dinner. If Stiles is calling him, he wants something. Which will either be illegal or expensive or both.

“If I did something that was maybe a teeny tiny bit-” Stiles makes the hand gesture to show just how small, even though his father couldn’t see him “-illegal, how pissed would you be?”

“How pissed I’ll be depends entirely on how illegal the something is.”

Stiles screws up his face. “A little bit.”

“Stiles…”

“This guy I’ve been seeing -”

“What’s he done?” Noah says sharply.

“Nothing! Nothing, it’s all fine, all good, saw him today in fact, he bought me a book, I bought him a book, it was the same book, it’s all good. Really.”

“Ok.” Noah sighs. “Go on.”

“He’s invited me to his place for dinner and he sent me the address and it isn’t a house. He lives in a warehouse. Out by the airport.”

“123 M Street, correct?”

“Wh - uh - bu -,” Stiles splutters. “Ok, how did you know that?”

“Do you really think I wasn’t going to run a very quick background check on the guy you’re dating?”

“Dad,” Stiles whines. “Isn’t he entitled to some privacy?”

“Uh huh. And what were you calling to  _ not  _ tell me you’re going to do?”

“...Run a background check?”

“Thought so.”

“So, uh, considering you’ve run it anyway, what did it come back with?”

“Name, address, date of birth, no priors. Cross referenced with any complaints made against him and there’s nothing.”

Stiles grins. “Good. Thanks Dad. Gotta go, b-”

“Stiles.”

“What?”

Noah sighs. “Don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”

“Dad,” Stiles whines again. “I’m nearly 22, does it matter how old he is? How old is he, anyway?”

“27. And no, I suppose it doesn’t. You’re an adult. Most of the time. Just be careful, kid.”

“I will be, Dad.”

“And Stiles? Make sure you tell him I have a shotgun.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and hangs up. He probably won’t tell Derek that. Probably.

He replies to Derek’s text, asking if he should bring anything. Derek replies to say no.

They text about Good Omens for the rest of the evening.

Stiles falls asleep hugging his phone.


	8. Chapter 8

Just before 7pm on Friday evening, Stiles parks outside a large red brick building and stares at it. It’s in the middle of the industrial area and it’s  _ huge.  _ Four storeys, lots of windows. He isn’t even sure where to go because it doesn’t look remotely like anyone lives here. If Derek’s Camaro hadn’t been here, Stiles would probably have driven to a safe place and called Derek to ask  _ what the fuck?  _ But it’s here and the address checks out. 

He hops out of the Jeep and goes up the steps to what looks like the front door, though it reminds him more of a large, heavy fire door. He’s relieved to find an intercom system to one side, and each one is marked with a company name so presumably there are offices here, too. At the top is one marked simply,  _ DH.  _ Stiles presses it and waits.

Derek is putting the finishing touches on the dining table when the buzzer sounds. He glances around, makes sure it’s all just how he wants it to be, and goes to answer.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Third floor, sliding door, come on up.”

While he’s waiting for Stiles to come up, Derek lights the candles and starts the playlist he made especially. He hopes it’ll create the right vibe. Romantic without being intense. He’s chosen acoustic tracks by some of Stiles’ favourite artists (at least based on who he follows on social media, they haven’t talked much about music yet), and mixed them with some more folky tunes that he prefers, and thrown in some classics as well. It took him hours.

He stands by the door until he hears Stiles’ footsteps on the landing, then he slides it open and smiles. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, holding out a small but perfectly arranged and tied bouquet of flowers. “You said I couldn’t bring anything so I brought these.”

Derek swallows hard. No one has ever brought him flowers before. “They’re beautiful, thank you,” he says quietly, and leans down to kiss Stiles - on the lips rather than the kiss-on-the-cheek greeting that had been a feature of their last two dates.

Stiles closes his eyes and soaks up the too-brief contact. He can’t stop beaming when Derek pulls away and ushers him inside, but he stops in his tracks at the top of the steps down into the loft apartment.

It manages to look industrial and homely all at once. High ceilings and a roof light make the already large open plan room seem even more spacious, and floor to ceiling windows would let the light flood in during the daytime. The walls are natural brick, decorated with paintings which Stiles wonders if Derek painted himself. The furniture is old; dark wood and metal. Maybe antique, maybe not, but it fits the space. The room could feel dark but there are so many lights, each strategically placed, that it doesn’t. There are wall lights, ceiling lights, floor lamps, and a desk with an angle poise lamp. It’s all one single space, even the bedroom, but it’s all neatly zoned and each space clearly has a function. It’s so clearly  _ Derek’s space  _ that Stiles wants to curl up and soak it all in like it’s a giant hug.

“Oh my  _ god,  _ this place is amazing,” he blurts out. “Like, seriously, dude, this must cost you a fortune in rent.”

“I own it,” Derek says as he closes the door behind them.

“You own this loft?”

Derek puts the flowers in a vase of water and turns back to Stiles. “The building.”

“The build- ok, then. Your family own it or you own it?”

“I own it.”

“That’s a hell of a trust fund you got there.”

“Yes. What would you like to drink?”

Stiles misses the question. He’s too busy staring at Derek with his mouth open. Not only because he’s been reminded of just how rich Derek is, but because Derek is  _ stunning.  _ Stiles wasn’t sure what to wear for a dinner-at-Derek’s-apartment sort of date, but Danny had once again steered him in the right direction (slacks, button down shirt) and now he feels overdressed. Maybe that’s just because Derek can pull off casual so well. Somehow he makes jeans and a henley look amazing. The top couple of buttons are undone and his feet are bare and Stiles would happily spend at least the next four hours with those feet in his lap if only Derek would let him.

“Stiles?”

Stiles closes his mouth with an audible snap. “Yes? Sorry. What did you say?”

“Drink?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.”

Derek smiled. “What?”

“Soda would be good. Thanks.” Stiles really wants a beer but he has to drive home and he won’t risk even one alcoholic drink when he’s driving. 

Derek pours Stiles a coke. He figures Stiles will appreciate the caffeine if his coffee habits are anything to go by. He pours himself a glass of water and takes both of them to the table. “Come sit down, dinner’s almost ready.”

“Can I help with anything?”

“No. Thanks. I like cooking and there’s not much left to do.”

“Can I look at your paintings while you finish up?”

Derek hesitates but only for a second. “Sure.” 

“You painted them, right?”

Derek nods. “Some of them aren’t great but they’re all finished so they’re as good as they’re getting.”

Stiles nods seriously. He thinks they’re probably all amazing but if Derek isn’t confident and wants to give him that disclaimer, he’ll accept it.

Turns out he was right. They  _ are  _ all amazing. Admittedly he doesn’t have the most educated eye but he thinks they’re stunning. Some are abstract; sweeps of colour that evoke emotions. One is red and black and angry. Another is blue and green and soft. There’s one in beach colours that reminds Stiles of the vacations his parents had taken him on when his mom was alive. They’re arranged in such a way that Stiles wonders if they represent an emotional journey that Derek has been on and what that journey might have been.

Others are more detailed. Seascapes and mountainscapes and forests. Emotions flow through all of them, carefully shown through brush strokes and colour choices. A misty forest evokes sadness but another has a hopeful beam of light shining down through the trees.

Stiles pauses by the last one, his mouth hanging open. It’s a silhouette of a landscape against the night sky, complete with stars, and the moon is painted in vivid detail. Moonlight glints off a stream in the foreground. It’s beautiful.

“You like that one?” Derek asks. He’s finished preparing dinner - steak and a salad - and is putting the plates on the table when he realises Stiles is staring at one of the paintings.

“What? Uh yeah. Yes, I do. It’s…” Stiles trails off. He’s in no way competent to offer a meaningful opinion on the quality of Derek’s art. “I really like it. They’re all amazing, though. Like, seriously. You’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Derek says softly.

Stiles smiles at him and goes over to the table. He’s still slightly in awe that this gorgeous, perfect man has gone to all this effort just for  _ him.  _ Maybe Derek really is using him to disappoint his parents but whatever, he doesn’t care too much. It isn’t like he isn’t getting something out of it too.

Derek’s only taken one mouthful of his steak when the door slides open. He stifles a groan and shoots Stiles an apologetic look.

“Nephew,” Peter greets him from the door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you had company.”

“I  _ told  _ you I had company tonight.”

“Oh, was that tonight?”

“Obviously.”

Peter rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “Well, I apologise. I thought it was tomorrow.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Fine. No, I didn’t. I wanted to come and meet the boy from the coffee shop.”

Derek groans out loud this time.

“Stiles,” Stiles says. “If you want to meet me, you could at least refer to me by my name instead of  _ the boy from the coffee shop.”  _

“Stiles,” Peter says, managing to sound vaguely apologetic.

Stiles waits for a moment but Peter doesn’t offer his name. He rolls his eyes. “Derek, your uncle is rude.”

Derek laughs. “Yes. He is.”

“Peter,” Peter says. “If you’re going to refer to me, you could at least refer to me by my name instead of  _ Derek’s uncle.”  _

“I would have but I didn’t actually know your name. Whereas I’m fairly sure you knew mine. So. Really wanna push that point?”

Peter laughs and sits down at the table. “I like you, Stiles.”

“That’s nice. The feeling isn’t mutual.”

Peter ignores him. “No wine, Derek? Your date-craft is slipping.”

Stiles gives him a look. “Says the man who just barged in on our date so I don’t think you’re really in a position to criticise what Derek’s doing.”

Derek stares at Stiles, smiling. He’s almost completely oblivious to whatever Peter is saying because everything he throws out, Stiles is throwing right back at him. It’s like watching a tennis match between a seasoned pro and a talented newbie - though if he’s honest, Stiles seems to be as much of a seasoned pro as Peter is.

“I’ll just pour myself a glass of wine, then,” Peter says.

“Did I miss the part where you were invited to stay?”

“I don’t need an invitation.”

“Don’t you? This is your apartment, then? Your building? No? I didn’t think so.”

Peter laughs and stands up. “Stiles, it was nice to meet you. Derek, I’ll tell your mother that he has my approval.”

Derek closes his eyes and nods. “Can you leave now, please? So I can attempt to salvage what’s left of this date.”

“I’m going, I’m going. Anyone would think you don’t like me.”

“We don’t like you.”

“Nephew, I’m hurt.” Peter laughs again and disappears out of the door as quickly as he’d arrived.

“So your uncle’s kind of a dick,” Stiles says as soon as the door is closed.

“Yes.”

“You told your family about me?”

Derek sighs. “No. I wanted to wait until I knew where we stood. But Peter has a habit of turning up like that. I told him I had company tonight so he wouldn’t.”

“But you’ve mentioned me before? Boy from the coffee shop?”

“Not recently.”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “Not since you gave me your number or not in the past few days?”

Derek groans. “A couple of years ago.”

_ “Years?!”  _

“Yes.”

“So you - you mentioned me that long ago? Dude, how long were you planning to give me your number?”

“That’s a long story.”

“So tell me.”

Derek sighs. He doesn’t really want to tell Stiles any of this but he doesn’t want to tell him to drop it either. He isn’t hiding anything. “I noticed you back then, when you first started coming in, but I figured you were 18 and I was 23 and that’s a pretty big difference. So I tried to put you to the back of my mind, got into a disastrous relationship that fucked me up, took some time to recover from that - I’m fine now, really - and I thought you’d probably be leaving soon, which you are, so it had to be now, I didn’t want to keep putting it off, I wanted to know if you were interested and find out where it might go. It took me a couple of times to get up the courage to give you my number, I wasn’t sure - you might have been straight, or not interested and I - yeah…”

Stiles listens, his attention solely on Derek, not even so much as fidgeting. “You -  _ you  _ had to get up the courage to give  _ me  _ your number?”

Derek nods.

“Wh - bu - I mean, have you seen us? You’re, like, 100 miles out of my league and - never mind, Scott keeps telling me to stop doing that. You really like me, huh?”

“Yes, Stiles, I like you.”

“So you really aren’t using me to disappoint your parents?”

“I’m really not using you to disappoint my parents.”

Stiles doesn’t even think about it, he just does it. He leans across the table and kisses Derek. It’s an awkward angle and he’s fairly sure it isn’t anywhere near the best kiss he’s ever given, so he keeps it brief and sits down again.

Derek smiles at him. “Believe me now?”

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Self esteem issues, couldn’t see any other reason you’d want to date me, blah blah. I’m working on it.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m just glad you haven’t run away screaming.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I dunno.” Derek sighs. “I find a lot of people are intimidated by me. And you aren’t. And I like that. You’re not - you say you have self esteem issues but you don’t back down to anyone. Not even Peter. And everyone backs down to Peter.”

Stiles shrugs. “Peter’s an asshole, why would I back down to him?”

“You shouldn’t but that’s my point. Most other people  _ do.  _ You don’t. So maybe your self esteem is better than you think it is.”

“So you’re saying my self esteem issues have self esteem issues?”

Derek laughs softly. “Yeah, basically.”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “I have literally never thought of it like that. Thanks. That’s something for me to work through in my next therapy session.”

“Happy to help.” Derek stands up and clears their empty dishes.

“Hey, no, I can do that.” Stiles jumps up too.

“No, it’s fine, I’ve got it. Just gonna put them in the dishwasher. Go make yourself comfy.” Derek nods towards the couch.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Stiles kisses his cheek. “Dinner was amazing.”

Derek smiles and takes the dishes into the kitchen. “Coffee?” he calls back.

“Please.” Stiles sits down on the couch and can’t resist flipping through the sketchbook that’s on the coffee table. He knows he shouldn’t but it’s  _ right there.  _ Derek probably would have put it away if he didn’t want anyone to see it.

It’s full of sketches of him. Derek has been sketching  _ him.  _ A lot. In a way, it’s proof of what Derek said about not using him to disappoint his parents. Maybe he shouldn’t need proof but it’s staring him in the face in a very literal fashion and Stiles is very grateful for it. Derek is interested enough in him to do at least twenty different sketches. Some are of his face, some of his hands, and there are two that have been done in coloured pencils and are studies of his eyes. All are amazing.

Derek nearly drops the coffee when he turns around and finds Stiles leafing through the sketchbook.  _ Why  _ hadn’t he put it away? He’d taken such care to make sure everything else was perfect, but he left that out, and now Stiles has found it.

Stiles is still engrossed in the sketches and doesn’t look up until Derek clears his throat.

“Holy fucking shit,” he blurts out. “Dude, these are  _ amazing.”  _

Derek barely has time to put the tray of coffee down on the table before Stiles has launched at him. Literally. Stiles has literally thrown himself into Derek’s arms, fully trusting that Derek will catch him. He does. He’s very familiar with people throwing themselves at him. Usually they’re less than half Stiles’ height and significantly lighter and they call him  _ Uncle Derek  _ but the mechanism of catching them is the same.

Stiles grins and wraps his legs around Derek’s hips. “Amazing,” he repeats, and kisses Derek’s cheek. “Also, like, fuck, you really are as strong as you look. You must work out non-stop.”

Derek laughs softly. “An hour a day, that’s all.” He takes a couple of steps forwards and moves to put Stiles down on the couch.

“Nuh uh,” Stiles says and tilts his head towards the bed.

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

*

“You want to cuddle me?” Derek says afterwards.

They’re both still breathless; blissed out and relaxed, and Stiles has just flopped onto his back and opened his arms.

“Yes. Yep. I want to cuddle you.”

Derek stares at him.

“Is that - that’s ok, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then come here.”

Derek hesitates.

“Ok, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Derek assures him, and curls himself against Stiles’ smaller form, his head on Stiles’ chest. “No one ever wanted to before. That’s all.”

“What?”

“No one else has ever wanted to cuddle me. They’ve always expected me to cuddle them.”

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek, holds him gently but tightly, and buries his face in Derek’s hair. “Well that sucks,” he says. “Not gonna lie, I definitely want you to cuddle me, I want to sleep in your arms, I think it’s probably the safest place in the world, but I want to cuddle you too and I hate that no one else has ever wanted to because you deserve this too. Not that my arms are a particularly safe place to be because I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, sarcasm is my only defence and it’s not gonna protect you from anything, but -”

“Stiles.”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was doing it again, wasn’t I? I opened my mouth and words fell out. I’m working on it. I promise. It just isn’t going very -”

“Stiles.”

Stiles kisses the top of Derek’s head and stops talking.

Derek relaxes against him. “I will cuddle you. Anytime you want. And your arms  _ are  _ a safe place to be. You don’t have to stop talking, I like listening to you, but please stop putting yourself down.”

“Sorry.”

“And apologising.”

Stiles laughs softly. “Ok. I’ll try.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty awesome and you don’t deserve the shit you give yourself.”

Stiles kisses the top of Derek’s head again and nuzzles into his hair. “You really think I’m awesome?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

Derek sleeps in Stiles’ arms. All night.


	9. Chapter 9

Derek takes Stiles out for dinner for his birthday. Then they meet Scott and Allison and a few of Stiles' other friends at a bar.

Stiles gets drunk. Falling down drunk. He's been drunk before - quite a lot, actually - but it’s his birthday and he's determined to make the most of it.

Scott, who has experience of Drunk Stiles, decides to go back to Allison’s place for the night which leaves Derek to pour Stiles out of the bar and carry him home. Literally.

Stiles manages to walk most of the way but he stumbles over a stray rock and winds up on the ground, giggling up at the sky. After trying to pull him to his feet, Derek gives up and scoops him into his arms instead. The journey goes much more quickly after that.

“You’re so strong,” Stiles says, punctuating each word with a giggle.

“You’re very drunk.”

“Yes. Yup. I am. I’m very drunk. So drunk. Like, really, really, drunk.”

“I know.” Derek shoulders open the door to Stiles’ apartment building. “Where are your keys?”

“Keys.” Stiles looks blank for a moment, then shifts his weight to fumble in his pocket and nearly falls out of Derek’s arms.

Derek catches him and rolls his eyes, though he’s amused rather than irritated. He carefully puts Stiles down outside the apartment door, keeps hold of him while he gets his balance, rolls his eyes when Stiles gracelessly slides to the ground and ends up in a crumpled heap.

“Keys,” Stiles says triumphantly and hands Derek a huge bunch of keys.

“Why do you have so many keys?”

“Uh. Here. Home. Roscoe. Sheriff’s station. High school. Scott’s. Others.”

“...Right. And which one is for here.”

Stiles squints up at him. “Blue.”

“The blue - Stiles, there are four blue keys here.”

“It’s one of them.”

Derek makes a patented Hale eyeroll and starts trying the blue keys. He gets lucky on the second try, opens the door, and hauls Stiles to his feet.

The apartment is chaotic but clean and tidy. There are band posters on the walls beside lacrosse jerseys and a picture of Stiles and Scott standing next to each other, in their team uniforms, holding a trophy.

“You played lacrosse?”

“Yup.”

“Any good?”

“Fuck no. Terrible.”

Derek laughs softly. He can’t imagine Stiles playing any sports but especially not lacrosse which involves both speed and coordination. “Fun, then?”

“Yeah. Good times.”

Derek nods and braces Stiles when he wobbles again. “Bedroom?”

“Mmm.”

“Where is your bedroom?”

“Second right.” Stiles gestures vaguely in the direction of his bedroom and leans on Derek.

Derek steers Stiles to the right bedroom. By the time they get inside, he’s carrying Stiles again. He carefully deposits him on the bed and disappears to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen, and a packet of painkillers from the bathroom, both of which he puts down on the nightstand. Stiles probably won’t want them now but he will in the morning.

Stiles tries to get undressed while Derek is out of the room but he only succeeds in getting his arm stuck in his jacket and then Derek has to rescue him and he would be embarrassed but he’s way too drunk to care about that.

Derek gets him out of the jacket, and his shoes, and pauses. It isn’t like he hasn’t seen Stiles naked before, he has. Several times. But this is different. In the end, he settles for getting Stiles out of his pants. He can sleep in boxers and a shirt.

Stiles tolerates the undressing but whines a protest when Derek stops and goes over to the closet to hang up his clothes.

“What?” Derek says. “What are you whining for?”

“Come back.”

“I’m coming back.”

“Mm, good.” Stiles attempts to wriggle enticingly and Derek rolls his eyes.

“You’re wasted.”

“Yeah.”

“No sex.”

Stiles whines another protest.

“No. Drunk. Not happening.”

“Ugh, fine.” Stiles settles into the bed and shuffles over to make space. “Stay, though?” he says, gazing up at Derek with the little smile he has that melts Derek right down to his soul.

“I’m staying.” Derek is halfway over to the bed when something catches his eye.

Takeout coffee mugs. Three of them. One that says Mieczysław, one that says Mieczysław with Stiles in brackets, and one that says Derek and has his phone number on it.

He takes a closer look and laughs softly. “You kept them?”

“Mmm?”

“The coffee cups. You kept them.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says dreamily, still gazing at Derek.

Derek melts. “You’re adorable,” he says, and takes off his clothes, down to his boxers, before he climbs into bed beside Stiles.

Stiles is snoring before Derek has even pulled the covers up.

He wakes up with a hangover.

Derek wakes up being cuddled like a teddy bear.

He has precisely zero objections to this.


	10. Chapter 10

_ Ugh,  _ Stiles texts Derek a couple of weeks later,  _ Roscoe is broken. _

_ Roscoe?  _ Derek replies.

_ Jeep.  _

_ Ah. Need a ride? _

Stiles hesitates, then texts,  _ Nah, you don’t wanna go back to BH. _

Derek doesn’t hesitate.  _ I don’t mind. _

_ It’ll mean meeting my dad. _

_ Ok. _

Stiles hesitates again.  _ Really ok? _

_ Really ok. _

Stiles lets out a whoop.  _ OMFG you’re amazing thank you I love you k bye. _

Derek laughs and starts packing an overnight bag ready for a weekend in Beacon Hills. He vaguely wonders if he can get away without going to see his family while he’s there before he decides that he probably can’t. 

Cora and Peter both live in Fresno so Derek sees them regularly. At least he  _ thinks  _ Peter lives in Fresno. He’s not entirely sure. Peter won’t tell anyone where he lives and the only address he gives out is for a PO box in San Francisco. But given that Peter turns up for dinner unannounced with annoying regularity, Derek’s fairly sure he lives nearby.

The rest of his family - his parents, grandparents, Laura and her husband and their kids - all live on the family estate in Beacon Hills. Derek hasn’t seen them for months. He Zooms with Laura often and sometimes she goes over to their grandparents house so he can talk to them too. But he tries to avoid talking to his parents so he doesn’t get dragged into the ‘ _ what are you going to do with your life, Derek?’  _ conversation that inevitably results from a phone call. He texts them instead. They don’t like texting so he doesn’t get pulled into any in depth talks. It’s better that way.

But he’s going to have to see them while he’s back which then leads him onto wondering if he should introduce Stiles to his family. He really doesn’t want to. His family all have a tendency to be overprotective and his mother in particular is somewhat terrifying. He’d prefer they didn’t scare Stiles away from him.

Stiles handles himself fine with Peter, though, Derek muses, so maybe it would be ok. They could pop in for a coffee and escape as quickly as possible, keep it to a casual meeting. That would be ok. Probably.

That line of thinking leads onto an  _ oh shit  _ moment when he realises he’s not sure where he’ll be staying. Stiles is staying at his father’s house. He knows that. But he hasn’t been invited to stay there with him and he isn’t sure how to broach the awkward subject. It might come up in conversation on the way there anyway. And if not, he’ll either stay with his parents (ugh) or get a hotel (less ugh, more likely to piss his parents off).

He groans to himself and jumps in his car. There’ll be time to worry about that later. 

*

Stiles is waiting outside his apartment block, hopping from one foot to the other when Derek drives up. Scott has promised to sort Roscoe out (by which he means, call an auto repair place and get them to fix him), so Stiles can go home and relax and not worry about it.

Which is good, because he text  _ I love you  _ to Derek and that’s enough to worry about. Why? Why did he do that? Usually words fall out of his mouth, not out of his fingers.

There’s no time to worry about it now, though. He’ll apologise or explain or  _ something  _ later. Once he works out what to say. He doesn’t want to say he didn’t mean it because he kind of  _ did  _ mean it, they've been together for a couple of months now, call each other boyfriends, and he sleeps over at Derek's place often enough to keep a toothbrush and a spare pair of boxers there.  _ I love you  _ is a natural progression. But he didn’t really plan to  _ say  _ it and if Derek isn’t at that point then it’s going to be awkward and awful and he doesn’t want to deal with awkward and awful. Maybe he can just pretend he didn’t say it. Derek will probably let him get away with that.

Yeah. 

He’ll try that.

He tosses his backpack into the trunk when Derek pops it open, and slides into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” he says, leaning over to greet Derek with a kiss.

“Hey,” Derek answers, “ready to go?”

“Yes, yup, I’m ready.” Stiles pulls on his seatbelt and settles in for the two hours-ish road trip. He should have brought snacks. No road trip is ever complete without snacks. But he doesn’t usually bother when he’s travelling alone and he didn’t have time to go out and get any between Roscoe not starting and Derek arriving so they’ll have to do without. Derek doesn’t strike him as the type of person who eats road trip snacks anyway.

Derek flashes him a smile and pulls back onto the road. He knows the way back to Beacon Hills, they don’t need the GPS on, so he switches on the stereo and taps his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping time with the music.

“I called Dad,” Stiles says a few minutes later. “While I was waiting for you, I called him to let him know Roscoe’s broken and you were giving me a ride.”

Derek nods. “What did he say?”

“He asked if I wanted him to make up the couch but I said no, we’d be ok in my room. That’s ok, right? I can call him back…”

Derek smiles and relaxes now that he doesn’t have to have that awkward conversation. “Yes, that’s ok, as long as he doesn’t mind.”

“Nah, he doesn’t. Just ignore any jokes he might make about shotguns. He  _ does  _ have one but I promise he’s joking.”

“It’s fine, Stiles.”

Stiles nods and lapses into silence. It’s unusual for him but he  _ can  _ manage it, when he tries.

Derek doesn’t let the silence go on for long. “I should see my family while we’re in town. Want to come? Meet them?”

“You want me to meet your family?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, yes, I’ll come with you.”

Derek checks the road, then glances at Stiles with a warm smile. “Thanks. They’re ok, really, they can just be a bit...much.”

“How so?”

“You’ve met Peter…”

“Yeah, he’s an asshole but he’s kinda fun.” After their initial meeting, Stiles has seen Peter a few times and actually (mostly) enjoys verbally sparring with him.

“Peter’s the nice one.”

“Wow, ok, really?”

“No.” Derek sighs. “Peter’s a shit, he’ll manipulate you and try to get under your skin and see what makes you tick.”

Stiles snorts. “He isn’t even subtle about it. Like, does it ever work? Are there people who don’t see straight through him?”

Derek laughs. “Yeah, most people don’t see it. It’s why he likes you.”

“And I thought it was just because of my natural charm.”

“That too.” Derek pauses. “And Cora, you know what she’s like.”

“Cora’s terrifying,” Stiles says, vividly remembering his first meeting with Cora when she backed him into a corner and threatened to remove his balls if he so much as thought about hurting Derek.

“Cora takes after my mother.”

Stiles gulps. “Ok. Noted.”

Derek sighs. “They’re fine, really. Dad’s old fashioned, he’ll ask you some bullshit about your intentions. Mom will give you the third degree. Laura will buddy up to you, she’s more subtle than the others but don’t underestimate her.”

“I will very definitely not underestimate any of them,” Stiles says, wondering if it’s too late to back out and say he doesn’t want to meet them. He won’t, of course. Derek deserves better than that, and he wants to meet the Hales, even if it’s just so he can understand Derek a little more.

Derek nods and they drive in silence a while longer. “What’s your dad like?”

“Harmless,” Stiles says, pauses, then adds, “Mostly harmless.”

“Mostly?”

“He’s a cop. He was in the army before that. He’s tough, not the sort of guy you want to cross, but he’s kind.”

“He’s a good dad?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says softly. “Also, he’s already run a background check on you so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “A background check?”

“Yeah, is that - it’s a problem, right?” Stiles says, chewing his nails.

“No. Peter’s run one on you, too.”

“How has - I don’t want to know how Peter has access to background checks, do I?”

“Probably not.”

“I’d ask what he came up with but I know the answer is nothing, so…”

Derek laughs softly. “Yeah. And I know mine came back with nothing so we’re all good.”

Stiles nods. “Ok, but seriously, how does Peter run background checks?”

“He’s a fixer.”

“A fixer, like -”

“Like, he makes problems go away.”

“Wow, ok, that’s -”

“Yeah.” Derek sighs. “He works for the family company. Mom runs it, Dad heads up the legal department, Peter runs the making things go away department which I think is technically part of legal but I try not to get involved.”

“Is Laura in the business as well?”

Derek nods. “Finance.”

“And what would you do if you worked there?”

Derek shudders. “Marketing. Liaising with journalists, putting out press releases.”

Stiles laughs softly. “I can’t see you doing that somehow.”

“Me neither.” Derek pulls into a roadside diner. “I’m guessing you haven’t eaten breakfast.”

“Uh…”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Thought not. C’mon.”

He’s out of the car before Stiles can argue that he doesn’t eat breakfast, he’s had caffeine and that will hold him until lunchtime. It would be a fruitless argument. They’ve had it before and when Stiles stays over at Derek’s, Derek insists on making him a smoothie before he leaves the loft. Stiles knows he won’t get away with saying he isn’t hungry so he follows Derek inside.

After breakfast (Derek just has coffee because he’s a responsible adult and has actually eaten breakfast, and Stiles has a plate of sugar, otherwise known as waffles and maple syrup), they get back on the road and drive to Stiles’ house where Derek parks on the driveway - slowly and sensibly, in case the Sheriff is watching. He doesn’t want to create a bad first impression.

Noah has been waiting on tenterhooks since Stiles called to say Derek was bringing him. He’s not  _ worried,  _ exactly. Derek doesn’t have so much as a speeding ticket to his name. But he still breathes a sigh of relief when he sees a black Camaro pull up on the driveway.

He opens the door and smiles when Derek picks up Stiles’ backpack as well as his own bag, glad to see that he has gentlemanly tendencies.

As soon as Stiles reaches the door, he’s pulled into a warm hug.

“Good to see you, kid,” Noah says quietly.

“Good to see you too, Dad.”

Noah pats his back and pulls away. “Mr. Hale,” he greets Derek, offering his hand.

“Derek, please,” Derek says, shaking his hand. “Mr. Hale is my father.”

Noah raises his eyebrows. “You don’t get on with your father?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Fair enough.” Noah can understand that and he won’t ask any further questions. He ushers them both inside. “Want some lunch?”

“No, thanks,” Stiles says. “Derek bought me breakfast on the way here.”

Noah smiles and claps Derek on the back. “I’m impressed, he hasn’t eaten breakfast since he was a kid.”

Derek smiles back. “Yeah, he told me.” 

Stiles had explained, when Derek had first raised the subject, that breakfast hadn’t been the same since his mom had died. She used to make him boiled eggs and toast with the bread cut into thin strips to dip into the perfectly runny eggs. Noah had tried to make them but the eggs were too hard. Then Melissa had tried but she forgot to cut the crusts off the toast first and a grieving eight year old Stiles had bawled his eyes out. Since then, he’s avoided breakfast. Derek thinks that’s perfectly reasonable but he’s still going to nudge Stiles to have breakfast as often as he can because Stiles cannot subsist on a diet of coffee alone and Derek isn’t entirely sure he eats lunch either.

As it happens, Derek is only partly right about that. Stiles  _ does  _ eat lunch. When he remembers and when the Adderall hasn’t killed his appetite. Which actually isn’t very often. He hasn’t admitted that to Derek yet, otherwise he thinks Derek will insist on making him a packed lunch to take with him and while that would be very sweet of him, Stiles prefers grabbing a packet of chips from the vending machine because he can eat them while he races to his next class.

“So just coffee, then?” Noah asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” Stiles says. “Do we have any green tea for Derek?”

“Coffee’s fine,” Derek says. “Really.”

“We have green tea,” Noah assures him and pats him on the back before he disappears into the kitchen.

“How’s school?” he asks when they’re all seated in the cosy living room. He’s sitting in the armchair; Stiles and Derek are beside each other on the couch, looking for all the world as though they want to be cuddling and not sitting six inches apart.

“It’s good,” Stiles says and launches into a long and detailed explanation of a paper he wrote last week.

Derek hangs on his every word, even though he proofread the paper for Stiles. 

Noah nods and makes appreciative noises in the right places. “And that professor you were having problems with? Harris? How’s all that going?”

Stiles makes a disgusted sound and a face to match. “Horrible but it’s fine, I’m getting a passing grade.”

“That’s great, son! Won’t be long before you’re off to Quantico.”

Derek’s heart gives an unpleasant jerk at the reminder that Stiles will be leaving soon. It isn’t like he’s forgotten about it, he just tries not to think about it because every time he does, he wants to grab hold of Stiles and start making plans to move across the country. The only reason he hasn’t is because he isn’t sure what Stiles will say.

Stiles glances at Derek, chewing his lip. He wants to beg Derek to come with him but that isn’t fair. Derek has a life in Fresno. He doesn’t need to move to the other side of the country for someone he’s only known for a few months. He probably doesn’t want to, either. Besides, maybe they can make the long distance thing work. He’ll only be there for a few months and if his assigned field office isn’t near home, there’s still video calls, maybe flights every couple of months, and then he’ll push to be reassigned to an office in Northern California so he can be near Derek again.

It won’t be so bad. Even if just the thought of it makes his heart ache.

*

They spend the afternoon with Noah who ropes them both into doing some yard work while they’re there. Stiles practically drools when Derek takes off his shirt and works in a white tank top. The sun is seasonably warm and he’s sweaty and shiny and a little bit grubby and as soon as Noah leaves for the night shift, Stiles pulls Derek into the shower which involves a quick and dirty mutual hand job.

They’re up early the next morning so Stiles can make breakfast for Noah when he gets home. He even eats breakfast himself but only because Derek gives him a reproachful look.

Noah grabs a few hours sleep, then joins them for lunch at the diner. Stiles mumbles a lot about cholesterol but doesn’t actually stop his father from eating curly fries. Noah considers it a win.

Then it’s time for Stiles to meet the Hales. Derek has carefully set up a late afternoon coffee, so they have the excuse that they need to get on the road and head back to Fresno. He doesn’t want to spend more than an hour or so there. He’s also sure that Stiles won’t want to either.

Derek turns into the long, sweeping driveway and groans.

“What?” Stiles asks. “What does -” he imitates the sound Derek made “- mean?”

Derek points at the flashy BMW parked right beside the door. “Peter’s here.” Then he points at a dilapidated pick up truck. “And Isaac must have brought Cora too.”

Stiles swallows hard. He turns white, then pink, then white again. “So it really is the whole family.”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“No, no, it isn’t your fault.” Stiles pats Derek’s knee reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. I know Peter and Cora and Isaac already anyway.”

He doesn’t sound convincing but Derek lets it slide. He parks the car, gets out, and leads Stiles into the large house.

Laura pounces on Stiles immediately and drags him into a hug. “It’s so good to meet you! Derek never brings anyone home.”

“Uh -” Stiles says, intelligently. “It’s good to meet you too.”

Laura gives him a squeeze before she lets him go and starts making introductions. “This is Tom, my husband, and the two ankle biters are Ellie and Jake.”

On hearing their names, Ellie and Jake launch themselves at Stiles who doesn’t catch them with anywhere near the amount of grace that Derek does and they all end up in a heap on the floor before Laura pulls the kids off and Stiles scrambles, red faced, to his feet.

“My grandparents,” Laura goes on, “Millicent and Jacob.”

They both look like kindly grandparents, but Millicent has sharp eyes and Stiles gets the feeling he definitely doesn’t want to cross her. They greet him warmly enough, though.

“And my parents, Talia and Aaron,” Laura says.

Aaron shakes Stiles’ hand before he makes his excuses and disappears into the kitchen to make tea for everyone. Derek follows him to make Stiles a coffee.

Stiles stares after him forlornly, feeling lost, until Talia steps up and smiles.

“I gather you already know Peter, and Cora and Isaac.”

“Yes, I-” Stiles starts before he’s interrupted.

“The boy from the coffee shop,” Peter says, smirking.

“The as- the rude uncle,” Stiles fires back.

Talia suppresses a smile. “Peter, play nicely while you’re under my roof.”

“Sister,” Peter says, clutching his chest in mock outrage. “Have you ever known me to not play nicely?”

“Frequently. Why don’t you help Aaron and Derek in the kitchen?” she says. “And you, Cora.”

“Me?” Cora says, “what did  _ I  _ do?”

“I saw the look.”

“There wasn’t a-” Cora says, before Talia glares at her and she slinks off to the kitchen - but not before giving Stiles a threatening gesture.

Laura laughs. “Sorry about Cora, she’s very protective.”

Stiles doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Talia shoos Peter into the kitchen as well, then leads Stiles through the house and out into the immaculately kept backyard.

“I see you already have the measure of Peter,” she says.

“Uh, yes. Yes, I do. I think. Does anyone really have the measure of him?”

Talia laughs softly. “No, not really. He likes you, Stiles.”

“He...does?”

“Absolutely. He’s been singing your praises since the day he met you. That’s why we’re all so delighted that Derek brought you to meet us.”

Stiles turns pink. “I didn’t - honestly, I thought he probably hates me.”

“Hate is a strong word. Do you hate him?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. He said you were a match for him and there aren’t many people he can say that about. He said you’re clever - perhaps too clever for your own good, sometimes - and sharp. Funny.”

“Uh…”

Talia smiles warmly. “And he said you clearly care about Derek very much, and that you’re very protective of him.”

“Yes. I do and I am. No doubt about that.”

“He needs someone like you. He hasn’t always had the best judgement when it comes to romantic partners. I wouldn’t want to see him hurt again.”

There’s a hint of warning in her voice and Stiles swallows hard. “I won’t hurt him. Not if I can help it.”

Talia nods. “That’s a good answer. I appreciate that you aren’t making promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I try not to do that. Sometimes I fu- mess up, though.”

“Of course you do, you’re young. It’s what youth is for. I just ask that you don’t hurt him unnecessarily.”

“I’ll do my best,” Stiles says and laughs awkwardly. He’s never been on the receiving end of a shovel talk before and he isn’t too sure what to say.

Talia pats his shoulder. “Thank you. So, Peter tells me you’re going to Quantico in a few months.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right. Joining the FBI.”

“Talia, please, ma’am makes me feel ancient.”

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles, feeling even more awkward than ever.

“And what do you see happening to your relationship with Derek when you leave?”

“Uh -” Stiles flounders, not sure how to answer that question when he hasn’t even spoken to Derek about it.

“Talia,” Millicent snaps, silently appearing behind Stiles. “Perhaps Stiles and Derek can work that out between themselves.”

“Mother, I was just -” Talia starts.

“I know what you were just. You were haranguing this poor young man.”

Talia takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Stiles. We don’t want to see Derek hurt again and I was trying to protect him but I was being harsh on you.”

“Uh -” Stiles says again. “No problem, really.”

“Thank you. I like you, Stiles, and Peter says you have his seal of approval so that’s good enough for me.” Talia pats his shoulder. “I think your coffee’s probably ready by now. Why don’t you come in when you’re ready? I promise I’ll make sure no one else asks you any awkward questions.”

With that, she’s gone, leaving Stiles alone with Millicent.

“Walk with me, Stiles,” she says, and gestures for him to hold out his arm. “The old legs aren’t what they used to be. Talia keeps on at me about getting a cane but it makes me feel so  _ old.”  _

Stiles obligingly holds out his arm and follows her over to a bench under an apple tree.

Millicent sits down with a sigh. “My daughter’s bark is worse than her bite. Derek hasn’t had a lot of luck in the romance department and it’s made her somewhat overprotective.”

Stiles sits down beside her and nods. “I can understand that. And I don’t blame her, I’d be overprotective of him too, he’s so sweet and adorable and I never want to see him hurt and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen but I don’t know what the future holds, I don’t know how we’re going to work things out when I go to Quantico but I do know that I want him to be a part of my future and I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”

Millicent pats his arm. “Good enough for me.”

Everyone is much more relaxed after that. Derek brings coffee out to Stiles, and Stiles follows him back inside, with Millicent holding his arm once again. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming and Stiles starts to feel like part of the family.

So much so that he’s almost sorry when Derek says it’s time to leave.

The whole family hug him goodbye. Including Peter. Even Cora doesn’t mumble any further threats to sensitive parts of his anatomy.

Stiles is calling it a win.


	11. Chapter 11

“I love you,” Stiles says out of nowhere.

Well, not exactly out of nowhere, he’s been meaning to say it for a while now - and not just a throw away line in a text message. He had vague plans about making it meaningful. Candles and a fancy dinner and maybe flowers or chocolates or something. But the more he tried to plan, the more the pressure built up.

So he’s saying it now.

It isn’t exactly  _ un _ romantic. It’s a beautiful summer day and they’re sitting in the park near Derek’s loft. Derek is leaning back against a tree, reading a book. Stiles is lying in the shade with his head in Derek’s lap, reading his phone which is a welcome change; he’s spent weeks with his head in a textbook, studying for his final exams. The results should be posted any day now. 

He’s on tenterhooks. Scott, Derek, Noah, and Stiles’ therapist have all had to calm him out of more than one panic attack when everything gets on top of him.

He’s on the verge of another one now because he just told Derek he loves him and  _ Derek hasn’t answered.  _

He risks a look up to Derek’s face.

Derek is staring back at him with an expression of barely disguised wonder and a tiny smile. “I love you too,” he says, then laughs softly.

“What? What are you laughing for?”

“Nothing, nothing. I wanted to say it first but you beat me to it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Derek leans down to kiss Stiles on the forehead. “Don’t be. I love that you said it.”

Stiles smiles and puts his phone down. Derek’s face is a much nicer view. Besides, he has to make the most of it because he’s leaving in four weeks and then the only time he’ll see Derek’s face is through a screen. The thought makes his heart ache.

Derek notices the change in his expression straight away. “Hey,” he says softly, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m fine.” Stiles knows he won’t get away with that. He sighs and carries on. “Do you really think we can make this long distance thing work?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says truthfully. “But I know I want to try.”

“I do, too. I don’t want to give up on  _ us  _ without at least trying. If it - if it doesn’t work out, I want to know that at least we tried.”

“We’ll try,” Derek promises. It’s all he can do. He’d go with Stiles, if he asked, no question about it, but he doesn’t want to suggest that because he doesn’t want to impose himself on Stiles. Their relationship is still in the early stages. Moving across the country would be too much. He  _ wants  _ to. He wants to go with Stiles, and there isn’t much keeping him here, but it would add a layer of pressure that might irreparably fuck things up. And Stiles will be busy. Too busy for him, probably, and Derek wouldn’t want to get in the way of his studies.

So long distance it is. No matter how much his heart is shattering.

Stiles sits up and presses a soft kiss to Derek’s lips before he flops back down with a sigh. He doesn’t  _ want  _ this. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to leave. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to have a long distance relationship. What he really wants is to ask - beg, if necessary - Derek to come with him; to up sticks and move across the country. But he can’t shake the feeling that he isn’t worth that. Derek would say no. Gently, carefully, in a way that would hurt as little as possible. But it would still be a no. And it would still hurt.

He’ll be home at the end of December. It’s only twenty weeks. He’ll have his first assignment by then and if it isn’t nearby, he’ll ask Derek to move with him.

For now, he’s going to ignore that ache in his chest and enjoy every last moment that he can.

It’s a plan.

Maybe not a very good one, but it’s a plan.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles passes his course with honours. The FBI confirms his offer and he has a place in the August intake at Quantico.

He packs up Roscoe with everything he needs, and his father’s car with everything he doesn’t. Scott and Allison are keeping the Fresno apartment for an extra few months, so he doesn’t have to worry about packing up furniture or plates.

They throw him a little going away party. It isn’t huge but most of the people in his friendship group are scattered all around the country at various different colleges so Scott manages to get them all to join in on Zoom.

It’s very cool but Stiles can’t tolerate it for more than a couple of hours. He says his goodbyes, then grabs Derek who’s making polite small talk with Melissa, and they head back to Derek’s loft for some time alone.

“I don’t wanna go,” Stiles says, throwing himself on the bed.

Derek looks amused. “It’s 9pm, do you really want to go to bed?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. I want to hide in your bed and pretend tomorrow isn’t happening.”

Derek sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Stiles, this is your future. It’s what you’ve wanted for years. You’ve worked so hard for it.”

“I know.” Stiles sits up and swings his legs around so he’s sitting beside Derek. “I know. I do want it. But I’m gonna miss you and I don’t want to leave.”

“It’s five months. You’ll be busy. You won’t have time to miss me.”

“I will,” Stiles says stubbornly. “I’ll pine for you, broken hearted, and cry into my pillow every night.”

Derek laughs softly. “Now you’re being dramatic. What you’ll actually do is send me a hundred selfies every night because you’re bored.”

“Ok, fine, maybe you have a point.  _ Maybe.  _ But still. I am gonna miss you, Derek.”

“I’m going to miss you too, Stiles.”

“You’re really ok with the whole long distance thing? We could -”

“Break up? No. Unless you want to.”

“No, no, I just - I want to make sure you’re ok with this.”

Derek thinks for a moment. “I am. I’m not ecstatic about a long distance relationship. But the alternative is worse. And I think you’re worth a little heartbreak.”

“I never meant to break your heart.”

“I know.”

“Your mom’s gonna kill me.”

“Hmm, no, but Millicent might.”

“Or Cora.”

“I won’t tell them.”

“Thanks.” Stiles pauses. “You really think I’m worth this?”

Derek kisses the side of his head. “I really think you’re worth this. Do you think I am?”

“I don’t know how that’s even a question. Yes. Yes, I think you’re worth this.”

“Really?” Derek hates how insecure he sounds but he can’t shake the feeling that this is either going to be a slow, agonising, drawn out break up, or that Stiles will change his mind or meet someone else or any one of a hundred other possibilities.

Stiles tucks himself against Derek’s side and hugs him. “Really. Because you’re Derek Fucking Hale and you’re my boyfriend and you’re amazing.”

Derek laughs softly. “Really? It’s Derek Fucking Hale now, is it?”

“Mmhmm. For emphasis.”

“You’re an idiot,” Derek murmurs and swings around to kiss Stiles.

Five minutes later, they’re undressed.

Fifteen minutes after that, they’re wrapped in each other's arms.

Stiles doesn’t sleep.

Neither does Derek.

*

“I don’t want to let go,” Derek mumbles into Stiles’ hair.

They’re standing beside the jeep. Stiles is ready to leave. Except he isn’t. He really isn't.

“I don’t want you to,” he mumbles against Derek’s t-shirt.

“You’ll text me -”

“Every time I stop. Yeah. And I’ll call you every night from the hotel. You have the itinerary, you’ll know where I’ll be each night.”

Derek nods. Stiles has put together a spreadsheet with his route, rest stops and overnight stops, and sent it to him, Noah, and Scott. If he misses a check in by more than an hour, they know where to start looking for him. It’s put Derek’s mind at rest. A little bit. But it’s still a long drive across the country in an old and not entirely reliable jeep. He wanted to buy Stiles a new car but had rejected the idea after he’d spoken to Noah about it. Roscoe had belonged to Stiles’ mom. Derek doesn’t want to take that away from him.

Stiles squeezes him tightly before he pulls away. “I should, uh - I’m gonna get going.”

“Yeah. Drive safely.”

“Always do,” Stiles says with a smile and a half-shake of his head.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek says softly.

Stiles launches at Derek and kisses him, clinging to him as though he’s drowning and Derek is his life preserver.

Derek barely has time to kiss back before Stiles is gone.

He drives away without another word.

Derek stares after the jeep until long after it’s out of sight. Then he goes inside.

He feels like a part of him is missing.


	13. Chapter 13

_ Why is Peter following me?  _ Stiles texts Derek when he stops for a comfort break a couple of hours later.

Derek’s heart leaps when he gets the text. Of course he’d known Stiles would text him, he wouldn’t just disappear and never get in touch again. He wouldn’t ghost Derek. But still, he’s relieved to hear from him. Both because it means Stiles is safe, and because it means he hasn’t been forgotten about.

The content of the message is more confusing though.

_ Peter’s following you?  _

_ Yup. And he isn’t very good at it. Noticed him three minutes after I left the loft. Tell him he needs more practice.  _

Derek laughs.  _ You tell him that. How’s the journey going? _

_ All good. Gonna get back on the road now. Text you later. ILY. _

_ I love you too. Drive safe. _

*

Stiles parks at the motel and checks in. It’s crappy but it’s in his budget and he figures one night won’t kill him. He goes into his room, texts Derek, and his father, and Scott, and watches through the blind as Peter pulls into the parking lot and goes into reception, then he goes out and lurks beside the entrance door.

“Why are you following me?” he demands when Peter comes back out.

“Stiles,” Peter says nonchalantly. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Stiles splutters. “Bullshit. You’ve been following me since I left Derek’s. You’re, like - dude, you’re  _ really  _ bad at it.”

Peter gives up the game. “Yes, well, I usually have people who do these things for me but I couldn’t waste staff resources on a personal errand.”

“A personal - I’m an  _ errand?  _ Following me is an  _ errand?”  _

“Well, sort of, yes. Shall we get dinner? Is there anywhere round here that serves edible food?”

“Probably not to your refined taste buds, no. Why are you following me?”

“Hmm. It’s very poor planning, Stiles. Couldn’t you have found somewhere that has a nice restaurant nearby? Or a hotel instead of -” Peter gestures towards the building “-  _ this.”  _

Stiles pulls a face. “Funnily enough, your hotel and dining preferences weren’t part of my planning process. Answer the question.”

“What was the question?”

Stiles starts to count to ten. He reaches three. “You heard the question the first time I asked it. And the second. Would you really like me to ask it a third time?”

Peter smiles wolfishly. “I would think that was obvious.”

“If it was obvious, I wouldn’t be asking. And let me be very clear here, if you weren’t Derek’s uncle, I would be asking much less politely. Possibly with some maiming. Because if you weren’t Derek’s uncle, I would have to assume that you’re an oddball creep and therefore in need of a punch to the face or a kick in the balls, and maybe a call to the cops.”

Peter laughs. “I do like you, Stiles. Very well. I’m following you to make sure you get to Quantico in one piece. And to answer the follow up question that I’m sure you have, I’m making sure you get to Quantico in one piece because if you don’t, Derek is going to be very, very hurt, and none of us want to see that. Consider me your bodyguard, if you will.”

“My bo-” Stiles splutters. “I wasn’t aware I was in need of a bodyguard.”

“Oh you aren’t. But I can also get you out of parking fines and speeding tickets. I’m useful like that.”

Stiles groans.

Peter smiles. “Shall we go and get a terrible burger from the diner? Or would you like to threaten certain sensitive parts of my anatomy some more?”

Stiles groans again.

“A terrible burger it is, then. You’re paying. I have no intention of wasting my money on bad food.” With that, Peter strides off.

Stiles stares after him, bemused. 

They travel in a convoy after that.

Peter doesn’t stop complaining about the food and Stiles’ choice in motels.

Stiles ignores him.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles settles into life at Quantico. It’s busy and chaotic and tiring but he’s learning a lot. 

He still finds time to video call Derek every night, and to call his dad at weekends, and to text his friends at irregular but frequent intervals.

He misses them horribly but he doesn’t have time or energy to spare to focus on that.

He throws himself into his studies.

It helps.

Sort of.


	15. Chapter 15

When he isn’t working at Hubble Bubble, Derek spends his time doing one of four things - working out, sketching (all Stiles), reading, or telling anyone who will keep still long enough to listen how much he misses Stiles.

He’s even resorted to phoning his parents and grandparents. Talia tells him (kindly) to get a therapist.

Derek considers it.

In the meantime, he appears to have been adopted by Scott and Allison. Scott pops over with a tub of brownies that he’s baked. They aren’t very good. Derek appreciates them anyway. Then Allison comes round with a bottle of wine, a tub of ice cream, and a Deadpool DVD. She drinks more of the wine than Derek does. Scott comes to give her a ride home.

Scott’s at a loose end one evening in October. Allison’s back in Beacon Hills for an archery tournament. He couldn’t go because he has weekend lectures which annoys him on general principle and annoys him even more because he can’t be there to cheer Allison on and congratulate her when she wins.

Figuring that Derek is also at a loose end, he texts him.  _ Takeout and beers? You can crash here. _

Derek jumps at the chance to get out of the loft for an evening so after his nightly call with Stiles, he drives over to Scott’s apartment with a large pizza and a six pack.

They eat and watch a movie and drink the beers and then Scott produces a bottle of Jack Daniels and they proceed to get drunk. Very drunk. Maudlin drunk.

“I miss Allison,” Scott whines. “I know it’s not the same but I miss her.”

“I miss Stiles,” Derek says morosely. He’s lying on the couch with his feet hanging off the edge. “I feel like a part of me is missing.”

“I miss Stiles too. Like, he’s always been part of my life. Since kindergarten.”

“Long time.”

Scott nods. “Feels like forever.”

“Feels like forever til I’ll see him again.”

“When’s he coming home?”

Derek shrugs. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know because Stiles doesn’t know. He finishes his course at the end of December and he’s planning to come home then but that depends on where he’s assigned to and whether he’ll have time for a break before he starts at his first field office.

It’s all very vague and Derek thinks he would probably cope better if he had a set date to work to. He’s thinking about flying out there for Christmas but Stiles isn’t sure he’ll even have Christmas Day free and Derek doesn’t want to get in the way of his training.

He doesn’t fit into Stiles’ new life. He’s been left behind. He hates it. And he hates that he feels like that because it isn’t fair to Stiles; he needs Derek to be supportive. Derek is doing his best to swallow his pain and to be proud of everything that Stiles is achieving, and happy for him that he’s living his dream, but it still hurts.

Sometimes it hurts so much that it feels like a knife in his heart.

He thinks he’s hiding it well.

He isn’t.


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles doesn’t get a break on Christmas day. Well, he  _ does,  _ insofar as there are no lectures, but a single day isn’t long enough to do anything. Like fly home. He calls his father and Zooms with Derek, then Scott and Allison, then Lydia, then Derek again, and then he pulls on his running shoes and goes round the obstacle course until he thinks he might faint. Or puke. He isn’t sure.

Two days later, he gets the envelope with his first field office assignment. He opens it and wants to cry.

He  _ does  _ cry. In the bathroom, with the door locked, where his roommate (Jackson, he’s an asshole - a good agent, but an asshole) can’t see and roast him for it.

He turns down invitations from Jackson and the other newly-qualified agents who are all going out to drink and celebrate. Instead, he sits down on his bed, clutches a pillow, and starts a Zoom call with Derek.

Derek puts down his sketch book and answers the call. His heart sinks when he sees Stiles. “Not good?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Boston.”

Derek nods. Boston is pretty much the worst case scenario. An eight hour flight or the best part of a week in the car. They’d both been hoping for Fresno or San Francisco, or pretty much anywhere on the west coast, but it seemed like luck was against them.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Stiles says quietly, his eyes shining with tears. “I tried. I really thought - I -”

“It’s ok, Stiles. We knew you might not get an assignment near here.”

“It’s not ok. I know how much it’s hurting you. It’s hurting me, too. I’ll understand if it’s too much. If you want to call it quits and move on, I’ll -”

“No.”

“No?” Stiles can’t quite disguise the hope in his voice.

“No. I love you, Stiles. I’m not breaking up with you. Unless you -”

“No! No, I don’t - we can make this work. Right? We can make this work?”

Derek smiles, he hopes reassuringly. “We can make this work.”

“I’ll put in for a transfer as soon as I can.”

“It won’t be great for your career if you do that too soon.”

Stiles sighs and nods. “I know. I’ll have to wait a while, maybe get a big case under my belt. Then I’ll do it.”

“You’re gonna be amazing, you know that?”

Stiles nods again. He doesn’t feel particularly amazing. In fact, he feels fucking terrible and he’s starting to wish he’d never even heard of the FBI, let alone joined up.

He just wants to be with Derek.

*

“All settled in?” Noah asks when Stiles calls him a week later.

“Yeah, as much as I can be.” Stiles has rented an apartment on a month by month basis. It’s more expensive but it gives him time to get used to the commute and get to know the city and where he wants to live long term. And he’s still vaguely hopeful he’ll be able to put in for a transfer soon. He’s not planning on settling in this apartment for long so he isn’t bothering to unpack or ask his dad to send on all the stuff he hadn’t brought with him.

“Good. So, first day tomorrow, huh? Excited?”

“Terrified,” Stiles says honestly.

“You’ve got this, kid. You’ll do fine.”

“Yeah.”

Noah sighs. “You’re still stressing over the Derek situation, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yes, I am, I can’t - Dad, I’m hurting him. He hates this as much as I do and I don’t - I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you  _ want  _ to do?”

“I want to be with him but I don’t want to hurt him and this is hurting him.”

“Ok, so let’s logic this out. Seems to me that you have three choices. You break up, short term it hurts more, but you both move on. You keep going as you are, which neither of you seems happy with. Or you progress your relationship.”

Stiles swallows a lump in his throat. “I don’t want to break up. Neither does he. And I don’t see how we can progress our relationship when we live on opposite sides of the country and never see each other.”

Noah sighs. “Stiles, you’re missing the obvious.”

“I am?”

“Ask him to move there with you.”

“Wh - uh - you don’t think it’s too soon for that?”

“Under normal circumstances, maybe, but you’ve been together, what? Nine months now? It might be a little quick but moving in together after a year seems reasonable to me.”

Stiles nods, thinking that over. “So maybe I give it another month or two and then bring it up? Because I might get a big collar and be able to put in for a transfer by then and that would take the pressure off.”

“Sounds good to me, kid.”

Stiles relaxes and ends the call feeling happier than he has done for a while. 

At least he has a plan now.


	17. Chapter 17

Derek talks to Peter. It has to be Peter. Cora likes Stiles but she’s of the opinion that he left Derek, therefore he is to be hated. And his parents, grandparents, and Laura are all happily married and he’ll get some sappy bullshit about doing what feels right and “you’ll just know”.

Peter, on the other hand, is the least romantic member of his family. He’s never had a romantic partner. Sexual partners, yes. Derek knows about them in more detail than he’d care to remember. But not a romantic partner.

He needs cold, sensible advice. 

Which is what he’ll get from Peter.

“This isn’t exactly my area of expertise, Nephew,” Peter says when Derek asks him.

“Yes, I know. That’s why I asked you.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does to me.”

Peter sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically. “So what, specifically, do you want advice about?”

“Stiles.”

“Yes, I gathered that when you said  _ can I ask your advice about Stiles.  _ Hence why I said  _ specifically.”  _

Derek rolls his eyes just as dramatically as Peter has just done. “What should I do? Breaking up isn’t an option so don’t even suggest it.”

Peter shrugs. “Move to Boston.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, Derek, just like that. What’s keeping you here? Apart from a family you only see at increasingly infrequent intervals, and a dead end job at a coffee shop.”

“I like my job at the coffee shop.”

“I know but you love Stiles. There are other coffee shops. Or find a different job.”

Derek nods. “And you don’t think it would be, I don’t know, too much? Moving across the country to be with him even though he hasn’t so much as hinted at it?”

“Oh, completely. It’s ridiculous. But you won’t be happy unless you try it. What do you have to lose?”

“Stiles. That’s what I’ve got to lose.”

Peter rolls his eyes again. “He’s as besotted with you as you are with him. Go. Make both of you happy. That’s my advice.”

Derek nods. It’s the advice he wanted. But it isn’t entirely straightforward and he needs some more time to think it over.

He spends a week thinking of nothing else.

*

In the end, he comes to a decision. He’s moving to Boston. But he isn’t doing it  _ just  _ for Stiles, he’s going to make a new life for himself.

So for the first time ever, he uses his family’s influence and secures himself a job at the Museum of Fine Arts. It’s only a 15 minute drive from the FBI office where Stiles is working so he starts looking for an apartment that’s somewhere in between. Just in case Stiles wants to take that step and move in with him. 

He finds one in the Beacon Hill area of the city. The irony amuses him. But it’s practical - it’s close to the museum, it’s close to the FBI office and it’s close to the airport for when he (they?) wants to fly back west to visit family.

He tells Stiles precisely nothing about this plan.

It’s hard, because Derek wants to scream from the rooftops because he has a job he knows he’s going to love, and an apartment that’s - well, it isn’t as nice as the warehouse loft but it’s still great. Admittedly buying an apartment on the basis of a video tour is something of a risk, but he’s sure it’ll be fine. His finances can take the hit if it isn’t.

It’s even harder when Stiles has a bad day and desperately needs something good to look forward to. 

Derek settles for telling him he’s going to fly in for a visit in a week or two. Stiles brightens after that and starts telling Derek about all the places that he wants to explore now they can do it together.  Derek smiles and listens to every word, making a mental list of everything Stiles wants to do.

Then he hires a removal company.


	18. Chapter 18

Stiles is chilling in his apartment after a long day. He doesn’t even have a call with Derek to look forward to because Derek has gone out for Allison’s birthday. Apparently it’s a big thing and they’re going to Stiles’ favourite bar.

He’s tired and he’s sulking while he scrolls through Twitter, and when the door entry buzzer sounds, he half considers ignoring it.

But he doesn’t. 

He drags himself off the couch and goes to answer.

His mood is not improved when a gruff voice says “6C? There’s a problem with your jeep.”

Stiles groans, says he’ll be down in a minute, and pulls on sneakers and a hoodie.

He’s halfway down the steps outside his building when he stops in his tracks, his mouth hanging open.

Derek is standing there, leaning against his Camaro. His leather jacket is turned up against the biting cold and his smile is warm enough to melt the snow that falls around him.

“Wh-” Stiles says intelligently. “I thought -”

He doesn’t bother trying to string the rest of that sentence together. Instead, he throws himself at Derek with all the force of an overly exuberant puppy that has just been unleashed.

Derek catches him. Stiles buries his face in the crook of Derek’s neck. They stay like that until Stiles starts shivering.

“We should go in,” he says.

“Mm. My place or yours?”

“Your- what?”

“My apartment.”

Stiles practically falls out of Derek’s arms. “You - you’re staying? Here?”

Derek laughs softly and catches him, gently sets him down on the ground. “Don’t freak out?”

“No, nope, not freaking out. Definitely not freaking out.”

Derek relaxes. A bit. A tiny bit. “We should talk inside. It’s -”

“Cold out here. I know.” Stiles goes around to the passenger side of the Camaro. “Your place.”

Derek gets in behind the wheel. “I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“When did you get here?”

“An hour ago. Checked on the apartment, unpacked some essentials, and came straight over.” Derek checks his mirrors and pulls on to the street.

Stiles nods and pinches himself, just in case he’s dreaming. It’s a really,  _ really  _ good dream and he doesn’t want to wake up and find out that it isn’t real.

But nothing happens. He’s still in the Camaro, beside Derek, who has - apparently - moved all the way across the country to be with him.

He steals little glances at Derek as he’s driving and barely notices when they pull up on a little side street.

“Oh, hey,” he says when he realises where they are. “This is near my office.”

“Beacon Hill area. Seemed appropriate. And yes, six minutes to your office, seven to the museum.”

“Museum?”

Derek laughs softly. “Come inside. I unpacked the coffee maker on the off chance you’d want to come see the place.”

Stiles isn’t entirely convinced he needs caffeine at this point. He’s buzzing with a sort of nervous excitement and filled with questions that are threatening to spill out of him in a rush. He’s barely containing them.

He follows Derek inside and up the stairs to the top floor. “Wow,” he says. “This is  _ huge.”  _

Derek nods. “There’s a lot of space. Coffee?”

“No. Thanks. When did you buy this place?”

“Closed yesterday.”

“So you were in Boston before now?”

“Nope.”

“You bought a whole apartment without even seeing it?”

“Video tour.”

Stiles laughs softly. “You’re an idiot.”

“Possibly.” Derek grins and sits down on the couch. The movers have put all the furniture in the right places, he just has to unpack a whole load of boxes to make it home.

Stiles sits half beside him, half on top of him. “Ok. Tell me. Yes, I still promise not to freak out.”

Derek takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around Stiles. This is it. The moment of truth. “The long distance thing wasn’t really working for either of us, was it? But I didn’t want to just follow you across the country, I thought that would put too much pressure on you. On us.”

“That’s why I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to put that pressure on you and if I’d asked and you’d said no, it would’ve been this whole thing. A whole disastrous thing. And then we’d probably have broken up and that would’ve been worse than the long distance thing so I didn’t ask but god, Derek, I wanted to ask you. So much.”

Derek smiles into Stiles’ hair. “You did?”

“I did.”

“So this isn’t -?”

“Too much? No. But you said -”

“That I didn’t want to follow you across the country? No, I didn’t.”

“But you’re here? You’re staying?”

“I’m here. I’m staying. I have an apartment and a job that I’m going to love. I start on Monday.”

Stiles pulls away, just a little bit, just so he can look at Derek. “You didn’t -?”

“Go into the family business? No. But I did use their influence. I’m going to be working at the Museum of Fine Arts.”

Stiles lights up. “That’s amazing! God, you’re gonna be - I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Derek says. “I want to be with you, Stiles. Whether that’s dating or - or more. We can’t do that from opposite sides of the country. So I decided to start a new life here. Nothing has to be any different from when we were in Fresno.”

Stiles nods, his mind latching onto one word. “More?” he asks. “What do you mean more?”

Derek hesitates, then gestures around the apartment. “It’s a big place…”

“I can move in?”

“If you want to. No pressure. You don’t need to answer now.”

Stiles whoops and kisses him, pressing close. “I want to,” he mumbles against Derek’s lips. “I really want to.”

“You really do?”

“Fuck yes. Can I move in tomorrow?”

Derek laughs softly. “Yes.”

Stiles kisses him again. “I love you,” he says when they break for air.

“I love you too, Stiles.”

“Is your bed made up?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Take me there.”

Derek laughs softly and scoops Stiles up into a bridal carry.

Afterwards, they sleep, wrapped up in each other's arms.

They sleep like that every night.

They’re happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> (And yes, there really is an area of Boston called Beacon Hill, and it really is roughly halfway between the museum and the FBI field office. It was too good not to use it, so I did. Cheesy? Maybe. But it made me smile.)


End file.
